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COEiMGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
AND OTHER POEMS 



THE BURGLAR OF THE 

AND OTHER POEMS 
li^illiam T^se ^enet 




NEW HAVEN 
YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS 

LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD 

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 

MDCCCCXVIII 






.% 



Copyright. 1918 
By Yale University Press 



First published, March, 1918 



m I3^9i8 



•?=^ 



OCI.A4 94 712 



The author wishes to extend his thanks 
to the following for allowing him to reprint 
here such of these poems as have already 
appeared in their pages : Ileedy''s Mirror, 
The Century Magazine, and The Sundial 
{New York Evening Sun). 



TO 

LAURA AND STEPHEN 

To win to our old cottage through my mind, 

First there's a clearing, then a forest-patch 

All dark low boughs that writhe and claw to snatch 

My cloak away; and then it is I find 

The gliding path that threads the thickets blind 

Till, veiled in drizzle, juts a dripping thatch; 

A mossed green door shines through its silver latch. 

This I lift swiftly, knowing you behind. 

Yes, there you are, — one all a silken shimmer 

Of rainbow fancies in her elfin gown, — 

One arm-chair sprawled, mumbling of sword and jewel. 

With glasses gleaming ! The rich old room's a glimmer 

With dancing firelight, crimson on the brown. 

It's black night out. Hello! I've brought some fuel . . ! 

You leap up laughing, both of you. Well now. 

Look out! I'm drenched! . . These are but faggots 

here. 
Soggy at that — yet they may serve to cheer. 
Once dried. I've come to see you, anyhow. 
Where have I been? Oh, lashed behind the plough 
In the world's pasture. So I reappear 
To you, old boy, — to you, my very dear ! 
I missed your hearty grin, your musing brow. 

[ vii ] 



TO LAURA AND STEPHEN 
Let's draw up chairs, serve supper, talk between 
Of fairies and chimaeras, ogres, elves. 
Life's whirligig, the tourneys you yourselves 
Have splintered lance in. . . 

Ah, the enchanted scene. 
The healing of the old speech and laughter, blending 
To tunes, to dreams, to love of you unending ! 



[ vili ] 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



The Singing Skyscrapers 


1 


The Quick-lunch Counter 


6 


Films 


11 


First Film: Down Along the Mountain 


12 


Second Film: Devil's Blood 


23 


Third Film: The Bohemian Barber-shop 


32 


Smoke ...... 


38 


Green Turtles . . . . . 


40 


The Suffrage Procession 


46 


On Sunday ..... 


49 


Night-motoring ..... 


64 


The Asylum ..... 


57 


The Blackamoor's Pantomime 


59 


Mad Blake 


86 


Jaldabaoth 


87 


How to Catch Unicorns 


98 


The Horse Thief .... 


100 


The Burglar of the Zodiac . . . 


106 


Alexander, the Crap King . . 


118 


The Seventh Pawn, 1809 


121 



[ix ] 



THE SINGING SKYSCRAPERS 

This was after midnight. 
Thus it befell. 
The city that is Heaven, 
•The city that is Hell, 
Blinded by its dazzle 
Woke me aware 
Of its tall titanic towers 
Singing in the air. 

From Madison Square 
Hidden in the mist 
Save for its pharos 
A blaze of amethyst 
Swimming in the mist. 
The Metropolitan, 
Singularly ringing 
Through steel and stone. 
Softly began 
In monotone 
The singing: 

"To Enoch in the Land of Nod I cry. 
Aeons away. 
Forgotten by our day. 
But rebuilded in the night. 
Every stone, 

[ 1] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Spectrally on high 
Where cloud drives by 
And the moon illumes the grey 
Ghosts of cities in the sky 
Thickly sown; 

Majestic phantom cities that move above our slumber 
Hung aloft in air — 
Cities beyond number. 
Towers beyond number !" 

And over the Avenue 
And Broadway, lying still. 
The Flatiron Building answered 
With every floor athrill : 

"Thebes, I invoke thee, — 
Tadmor in the Wilderness 
Conceived of Solomon, — 
Memphis, Alexandria, 
Cyprian Paphos 
Sacred to Astarte, — 
Overthrown, tragical. 
Blank blue ruins magical 
Under the moon! 
With sistrum and cymbal 
Cozen me a tune 
From this night air nimble !" 

And from far to the South 

I heard the Woolworth Tower 

Reply from the sky: 

[ 2 ] 



THE SINGING SKYSCRAPERS 
"Aye, cities of power, 
Each a granite flower 
Stamened to unfold 
With towers of ivory. 
Towers of gold. 
Towers of brass 
And towers of iron. 

Towers all as many as the hours that environ 
The years of our servitude. 
Our steel and iron yoke. 
In the deep blue skies 
They stand like smoke ! 
Pavia the hundred-towered. 
Shining over Italy, 
The Greek Heliopolis, 
The City of the Sun,— 
Phoenician Sidon, 
Persian Persepolis, 
The Vale of Siddim's cities 
By sins undone! 
There the strong rampires 
Of Troy flare fires. 
There like spears stand spires. 
Priceless citadels 
Pulsate with their paean 
Aeon after aeon: 
'We are the eternal. 
Your frames but shells! 
We are your sires. 
The frozen fierce desires 

[3] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Of Man made immortal 
By temple-miracles !' " 

And the Singer Building, 

As I seemed to know, 

Resounded through the town 

From its station far below. 

It sang of the City of the Violet Crown. 

It sang Rome risen and Rome gone down. 

It sang like a seraph 

Tremendous in the dark; 

And the million-windowed Plaza 

Up by Central Park 

Echoed from afar. 

Intoning to a star. 

Nineveh they sang, 

New York they sang! 

In surcoats of stone 

Like huge knights at vigil. 

Each alone 

Sealed with the sigil 

Of the glories of the Throne 

That wakes this Memnonian 

Music eternal 

In the clay and the compost. 

The steel, the stone. 

So above our shining towers 
To my eyes was given 

[4 ] 



THE SINGING SKYSCRAPERS 
A last great vision 
Of a wall great and high; 
Twelve gates, twelve angels. 
And, descending out of heaven. 
The Celestial City 
Blinding in the sky ! 
It lay foursquare 
To what winds might pass. 
Jasper was the wall. 
And like clear glass 
Pure gold was that city 
Blazing in the air ; 
And sapphire, chalcedony. 
Emerald, sardonyx. 
Chrysolite, topaz. 
Jacinth and amethyst 
Garnished its foundations ; > 

And the wild salvations 
Of the risen nations 
Made a glory there ! 

Night flowed away from it. 

The River and the Throne 

Blinded my eyes. 

My heart fell prone. 

But my brain was ringing, ringing 

With vast anthems from afar. 

And the Towers, the Towers were singing 

To the Bright and Morning Star! 

[5 ] 



THE QUICK-LUNCH COUNTER 

I seize a little cardboard slip 
On entering, and sight a chair 
To hold — if I can steer it there — 
On one flat arm, some humorous food. 
A good day this for going nude! 
The seething street — the stifling glare! 
Thick-beaded brow and cheek and lip 
Attest it well. I cross the floor, 
Slouchingly stand to mix once more 
With lunch-time's hasty fellowship, 
And scan the sign-board bill-of-fare. 

Clerks crunch a roll or two. 

Pimpled salesmen spread 

Raw mustard on their bread. 

Small tradesmen, with a bowl or two 

Of milk and crackers floating. 

Scan scare-heads black and gloating. 

And guttural foreign voices 

Dispute 'mid other noises 

A dozen fruitless themes. . . 

Meanwhile his bow Apollo poises. 

Loosing swift-gleaming dreams: 

Pellucid peacock-colored ripples 
The plangent sunlight strikes along 

[6] 



THE QUICK-LUNCH COUNTER 
To shallows where leaf-shadow stipples 
The idling, sidling silver ripples 
With dust of gold, as down the Tigris 
The caliph's boatmen send a song. 
I sip cool sherbets winy-clear 
And melting on the tongue like snow 
In gardens of the grand vizier 
Where your lute tinkled, long ago! 

"Well, gents, what's yours?" . . 

Swab, swab the marble, — dip the soup. 

Sling out the sandwich, — punch ! — it's done. 

Some delicate dessert allures? . . 

"Pie? . . Cake? . . Some crullers, son?" . . 

"One Com-bo!" (shouted) . . To a group 

Of seeming gun-men, "Salad? Hey?" 

Then, bawled, "Two French fries on the way ! . . 

Naw ! Make that one!" 

Clash, clang. . . "One scrambled . . make it two!" 

"Here y'are, sir! . . Ye-es, that's Irish stew!" 

Clink, clash, swab. . . 

Then a sharp command. 
And, starting up, I take in hand 
My share of thick white china, holding 
Limp bread some limper ham enfolding. 
Brown doughnuts, and a liquid less so. 
(They call it "coffee." Well, I guess so!) 

Pellucid peacock-colored lights 

Your eyes have borrowed from the stream. 

[ n 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
The jasmine of Arabian nights 
Steals round you from the dusk hareem. 
Sharper than Haroun's Samsamah, 
Sword of the caliph. Love can pierce; 
No leopard's black and gold more fierce, 
No steed of all Arabia 
More swift! — and, as the ezzan floats 
Summoning the faithful through the throats 
Of your strange criers from the skies. 
So have the glances of your eyes 
Summoned my soul, Zobiede! . . 
There is no more to sing or say! 

What all the wealth of camel-trains 
Tinkling across the tawny plains. 
The spoils of every Eastern vine 
Or dainties snared from either blue. 
The sky or sea, — whenas your lute 
Falls again faint-toned, — and I pray, — 
'Mid pyramids of golden fruit. 
Pomegranates scarlet gleaming through. 
With scented wine like bitter brine 
On my parched lips unhealed of yours, — 
Can only pray my strength endures 
To slay my love, Zobiede! 

. . By Heaven, that headline looks like war! 
To send him to the chair at dawn. . . 
Shoots two . . strange suicide . . Before 
Fate's fingers reach for me, her pawn, 

[8] 



THE QUICK-LUNCH COUNTER 
And I pass through the same dark door 
Whither all breathing men are drawn, — 
Well, let me sip my lethe'd dream. 
Hoping things are not what they seem ! 

Ices of cool translucent green, 
Syrops of amber, pungent spice. 
Rosy-fleshed melons filled •with ice. 
Bowls of rich Shiraz, howls between 
Of Kismische, — and yet the least 
Dog of a Giaour doth rarer feast. 
Since 'twixt us twain with each new day. 
Shines Honor's sword, and points the way! 

The sefy takes the antelope — 

But not the hooded bird or blind! 

Fetters of fealty bind my hope. 

The Caliph murders, to be kind! 

So sigheth Giafar, the good vizier, 

A princedom may not satisfy 

Since Haroun's daughter, bending near. 

Eclipsed all glories from his sky 

He takes the long road that he must. 

He serves one only, dubbed "The Just." 

Alas, he can no other way 

Than crush his brittle heart of clay 

In his hot breast! Zobiede, 

There is no more to sing or say! 

[9] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Brush off the crumbs . . and now what comes ? 
A glass of water? Clean? Well, I suppose so. 
Who knows so? 

Cool, anyway! . . "Hey there, your check!" 
A jar of toothpicks pushed my way, 
A pink and puflfy female hand 
Scraping the nickels I produce 
Across her counter (while her neck 
Glistens with — "perspiration" say). 
Behind me the screen-door flacks loose. 

The high gods hover when they choose. 
I made an excellent lunch today! 



[ 10 ] 



FILMS 

" Ding-dang- dang !" the electric piano, the electric piano 

jangled through the dimness. 
Down hissed a ray from the wizard's eye, imprisoned in 

his little black box on high. 
And a magic circle on the taut white sheet wavered to 

focus all the gayness, grimness. 
And mystery of life's long winding street, for its slaves 

'twixt death and birth on earth. . . 
"Ding-dang-dang !" rang the tinny piano, rippling with 

the echoes of a world's wild mirth. 

Let us stumble down in the odorous dark 
And squeeze into seats along the aisle. 
Your mind is "enlightened." With scorn you mark 
The frown and smile of the rank and file. 
Their musty moralities leave you cold. 
, These obvious "heart-throbs" are so old! 

What is there here that is worth one's while? . . 

"Is it their humor, is it their tears. 

Their maudlin mess of hopes and fears. 

Blind to all proud insurgent art 

And the subtle nobilities of the heart ?" . . 

Yes ! Here is the pith of all budded theme, 

Man's glamorous fundamental dream ! 

Sit through a couple of films and feel 

Your lugubrious soul in every reel! 

[ 11 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
"Ding-dang-dang!" the electric piano, the electric piano 

tinkle-tankles faster 
A popular tune banal and bright . . and from over our 

heads a stream of light 
Wakes a magic trade-mark swift and clear, to usher in 

a story of delight or disaster 
By a crowing rooster, or a spinning sphere. . . Then a 

picture flickers on our eyes' surprise, 
"Strum-a-strum-strum!" The piano ceases. And we 

rush into a region where the fool turns wise ! 

First Film: Down Along the Mountain 

Waving his blue serape, the wild vaquero wind 
Whooped o'er the purple mountain, the herds of Spring 

behind. 
His silver-mounted saddle, his chinJcing bridle-chains. 
Glittered between the live-oaks as he flashed to find the 

plains. 

Down along the mountain 

A cowboy 

Came riding, 

Down along the mountain, 

Down along the mountain. 

O'er the deep-cut canyons. 

Through the high hill-meadows; 

But his heart was swept of shadows 

And it gushed a golden fountain. 

As his hard-braced little horse's legs 

[ 12 ] 



FILMS 
Went jolting, 
Went sliding — 

With hitches, twists and slithers, 
Humped-up rump and sunken withers — 
While the pebbles spun along; 
And the loosed water-courses 
In his soul foamed to his riding, 
Red-roaring, fervid forces 
Thundered "Spring!" through every vein; 
And the clouds above the mountain in the blue of love 

abiding 
Caught the glory of his song 
With its braggart refrain: 

"Hang 
your 
spurs 

On the back-door of the rainbow! 
Bow 
to 

Gawd 

In the great big sky corral ! 

Hitch your britches^ and amble to the ranch-house! 
Sail in, Davy — sail in, Davy — 
Sail in, Davy! 
You're bound to get that gal !" 

Silken and. orange poppies, lupin in blinding blue. 
Painted the billowed foothills, and pure as a globe of 
dew 

[ 13] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
The meadow-lark's lyric bubble purled out of silver oats. 
And song from the orange orchards trilled from throb- 
bing vireo throats. 

Dreaming in the meadow 

Goldilocks lay sleeping. 

Shaggy "Shep," beside her. 

His nose on his paws, 

Watched the distant valley 

With its sprawly ranch-roofs peeping, 

Lolled his tongue at blackbirds — 

Skimming red-winged blackbirds — 

Curled his lip at blackbirds 

And a crow's far caws. 

He saw the blue serape of the wild vaquero wind 
Stream o'er the purple mountain, the herds of Spring 

behind. 
Silver-mounted saddle and chinking bridle-chains 
Glittered between the live-oaks as he flashed to find the 

plains. 

"Shep" rose trembling. 

But dissembling 

All his awe^ — 

And raised a paw. 

Took a step, 

(Romantic "Shep!") 

And then, beyond the oaks, he saw. 

As from hiding 

[14] 



FILMS 
A cowboy 
Come riding 

Down along the mountain, 
Down along the mountain. 
Singing strong at a song — 
For his heart in the Spring 
Gushed a golden fountain. 
And he simply had to sing ! 

"I'm the fellah you was waiting for, 

M-y-y-y dear! 
I'm the fellah you was waiting for. 
And I'm here on my hawse before your door. 
So what wiU you do with a fellah like that ? 
Take down your shawl, pin on your hat, 

M-y-y-y dear — 
And come on, come on — we're goin' 

On a ride 

To the moon!" 

Goldilocks, the rancher's daughter. 
Had a laugh like a fairy. 
Had a smile the angels taught her, 
(Though her real true name was Mary.) 
And I think they must have brought her 

In a pearl and ivory car 
When she came to Bar-X-Bar. 

******** 

Look out, look out for squirrel-holes. 
When sunshine makes you drowse! 

[ 15 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 

Spring will daze a cayuse, and a dog's bark make him 
jump. 

Don't fool along through live-oak groves 

Where Spring is keeping house ! 

You'll slip sidewise and you'll stumble, and go grass- 
ward with a bump — 

And the surest-footed cayuse prove a triple-plated 
chump. 

That was how it happened — thump! 

Goldilocks 
Sprang from sleep. 
And a cowboy, in a heap. 
Scrambled up, and then uncovered, 
(When he saw his pony stood 
Quivering, snorting, but all sound). 
And bowed low to the ground 
In a gay Lothario mood. 

Spring in their veins 
Thrilled and tingled. 
Spring in their brains 
Throbbed and mingled. 
Her cloud of gold hair. 
Like an aureole. 
Breezes tossed — to snare 
His heart and soul. 
Breezes swept its strands 
To a maze of light 
Till he clenched his hands 

[ 16 ] 



FILMS 
And stared at the sight, 
And his heart sang loud for delight: 

"You came out of the sunset to me 
Long ago, long ago- 
Riding a cayuse the color of night 
And whirling a lariat of diamond light ! 
The hoods of your stirrups were gold 
And the horn of your saddle was pearl, 
Little girl! 
And you told 
What you know 

Of the range that lies way past the planets, 
Just starlight to mortals below! 

"Come up on my pony with me 
And we'll ride 
For that range. 
Raising a dust on the white milky way. 
Bucking through space like a bronco at play ! 
We'll weave up to heaven with a whoop and set the 
gold streets in a whirl. 
Little girl! 
I will loop, 
For a change, 

AU the stars with the slack of my rope, 
And bust every wild steer on that range !" 

"Shep" growled once, then wagged beside him. 
Mary stood aloof and eyed him, 

[17] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
In her figured calico 
Looking like a princess lost. 
And the ranch-house far below 
Spired a thin blue smoke toward cloudland . . 
Then the cowboy laughed, and tossed 
His Stetson high in air. 
And he said, "Miss, I swear. 
As you stand there. 

You just strike me like a cyclone, till I want to buck 
and r'ar !" 

"How did you," said Mary, 

"Come so far? 

The cows out here are tame. 

Me and Par 

Herds our few; 

But sheep — 

There's a heap. 

Down there's the siding, by the marshes. 

You can see a cattle-car." 

"Where did I come from?" 

Said he. 

"Round by Arizone — 

That's me ! 

Loped it on my lone — 

And Mexico. 

I've wrastled from Cheyenne to San Antone — 

That's so!" 

[ 18] 



FILMS 
"Seems we're shif'less here," 
Said she. 
"An' — oh dear! 
Par is gettin' queer. 
Mar is dead. An' as fer me, 
I'm — oh well. 
This life is Hell— 

Baked-bread hills, and sky, and sky . . ! 
Sometimes I think that I might just as well 
Die!" 

"What? You!" 

Said he. 

"You that raked your spurs 

Into me 

First time I laid eyes on 

That hair o' yern?" 

Down toward the west's hill-filled horizon 
The sloping sun began to redly burn. 

Mary flushed — could not speak — 

But a sparkle on her cheek 

Tattled of a tear. 

"Miss," he said, "my dear, 

I'll be gone from here 

Just like that — or, if you say so, 

I'll stand pat and wait a year. 

If your Pap is queer, 

[ 19] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
You won't make no sudden hike — 
Not the girl that you look like. 
There's a feller in the Bible, 
A sky-pilot told me of 
Oncet, that worked f er fourteen years 
Fer his girl. They tried to fool him 
In between times — but he stuck. 
I would chuck — 
Well, ye know it kinder skeers 
When I think what I would do 
Just to sit acrost from you 
At the table, and corral 
Hopes and fears — and damn the luck ! — 
With you fer everlasting pal." 

"Hush !" said she. 
"Are you — are you — 

Oh !" she whispered. "Do you mean you're fonda 
me?" 

Waving a red serape, the wild vaquero wind 

Fled through the fiery sunset, with phantom herds 

behind. 
Bellowing loud and lowing with Spring's wild loco-weed 
The galloping herds of the sunset passed in a mad 

stampede! 



Click-flash! . . and then PART TWO, 
Fantastical with "derring-do"; 



[ 20 ] 



FILMS 
Moonlight elopement and swift pursuing^ 
Lickety-split over mountains blue; 
The obstacle-race of every wooing 
That always follows the ring-dove-cooing, 
Precedes the "tender and true/' 
And spices the plot to a peppery-hot 
And highly romantic brew! 

The dust puffs white, and the bullets bite, 
And the horses fly along the sky. 
Splash through the creek at hide-and-seek, — 
And the lovers cling and the shot-guns speak ! 

Aye, Movie Man ! And the poet can 
Delegate that to you! . . 
I only pretend to know THE END. 
Possibly this will do! 



Down in the valley. 

In a ranch-house window, 

A yellow lamp, 

A little steady star mocks the sky. 

And down along the mountain, 

Down along the mountain 

Stream the sheep bleating 

From their pastures high; 

Shambles a cayuse. 

And a cowboy singing 

[21 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Lifts in his stirrups 
To see that window shine. 
Down along the mountain 
His voice comes ringing 
To where his wife stands clinging 
To the morning-glory vine 
On the porch of that ranch-house white-glimmering 

afar. 
On the porch of the ranch-house of the Bar-X-Bar. 

"You're waiting, Mary — 
Oh, I know you're waiting, Mary — 
Like I always knew that it would be. 
Spring's comin', Mary, 
Summer's comin', Mary, 
Winter's comin', Mary? 
What's that to you an' me! 
For Spring's come truly 
Forever an' forever — 
Spr"ig and the evenin', an' the moon. 
Sing the younguns off to sleep, 
Fer I am comin', Mary — 
I am comin', Mary, with a cowboy tune — 
Supper's on the table, an' I'm comin' soon!" 



"Ding-dang-dang!" the electric piano, the electric 

piano romps across the fading 
Of the last lettered legend and the last dumb show. 
Old eyes soften and young cheeks glow, 

[ 22 ] 



FILMS 
For they breathe the air of a mountain height, with a 

gorgeous sunset o'er the peaks parading. 
In this stuffy cave, with its ghastly light. 
The winds of the open sweep the cheap 
"JDing-dang-dang !" of the tinny piano to a tiny echo 

from a far dust-heap! 

Now "Thrum-thram-thram!" — the piano ceases. 
From a fresh reel humming, there is magic coming — 
All the sheaves of story, all the wizard meadows, all 
the fields of romance for the poor to reap! 



Second Film: Devil's Blood 

D'Artois does not love the King ! 

See him frown, 

Home from war's adventuring. 

In his castle o'er the town, — 

In the gorgeous gloom 

Of his turret room! 

Now he smites his hands 

Together — and his teeth 

Glitter in an awful smile. . . What thought, beneath 

Those jetty love-locks, whispers "Death" 

Through his harshly-taken breath? 

Ah-h! He understands! 

[ 23 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
He understands why Clare 
Is cold and pale 

With strange flushes. . . Swift he turns. 
There she stands. . . No words avail 
To move her doubting gaze. All day 
She stares, — she has gone mad, they say, 
Since he rode away. 

Nay! 

He knows the serpent in his Eden — Love! 

She loves the King. 

He sees them walk the garden. The King talks. 

Birds are a wing. 

Brilliantly sing. 

Aye, everything 

Is gay with flowers and song. The flowers from their 

stalks 
Salute her beauty. And, above, 
The summer sky is shimmering love. 
Her summer eyes are brimming love. 
She loves the King! 

D'Artois does not love the King. 

See him pace 

The moonlit rampart, with a cloak 

To hide his face ! 

The silver moon rides with white prow, the swift clouds 

race. 
From his wried lips the muffled curses choke. 

******** 

[ 24 ] 



FILMS 
Through the town's twisted street, 
Down the long stair 

That is the street, a gray beard hobbles. See ! 
He is an ancient steeped in alchemy. 
He peers now here, now there . . 
He grasps his bundle close and hobbles to his lair. 

Here are strange fires. 

In this dim cave-like room all terrible desires 

Lurk in those glimmering alembics, rise 

In fume from those retorts, — to mock the skies 

And tempt the angels out of Paradise. 

Over a glittering brazier's crimson coals 

The Alchemist holds thin hands. 

His parchment skull white-fringed 

Gleams in the ruby-tinged, 

Green-misted light. . . 

His dark soul understands 

The hell of darkened souls. 

His daughter was the King's 

Captive, long since, — and died. He dreams of dreadful 

things. 
Who knocks so late tonight? 

In the black door 

Stands d'Artois, dripping with the rain. 

Once more 

The Alchemist's eyes lift from their dream of pain. 

The picture that he sees 

[25 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Dislimns. . . He bows. 

"I seek for my disease 
A cure — a stealthy cure and swift ! You know 
Swift powders, cunning poisons ? Even so ! 
Not for myself — ah, no! 
For one — 

But even here I fear I were undone 
To breathe the name!" 

The old man's eyes strike flame. 

The picture shimmers of his daughter's shame. 

Their faces draw together tense and white 

In the green ghastly light. 

Slow tigrish smiles play on their whispering lips. 

Crime's black eclipse 

Weds them in darkness. With thin, clawlike hands 

The Alchemist gestures. Yes, he understands ! 

He holds a little vial 

Of squirming flame. "Here, good Milord, — one trial — 
Enough!" He spurns hack d'Artois' gold. "That flask 
Put to its brooded use — is all I ask!" 



Under the great gold canopy. 
Stiff rustling, of his high and regal bed. 
In his great palace high above the town 
The King sleeps peacefully. 
D'Artois' swift, catlike tread 

[ 26 ] 



FILMS 
Presages naught to him. 
The cresset light is dim. 
D'Artois paces the antechamber floor, 
Listens without the arrassed door. 
Seeming unlistening, — jests his mates at cards. 
Would they have wine? Seek it! "See! D'Artois 

guards 
This door tiU your return !" 

They go. He stands 
With almost the achievement in his hands. 

He listens. He goes in. 
Stealthy as sin 

He creeps toward the curtained bed. One hand 
Fingers his poniard, lest the deed long-planned 
Somehow go wrong. The little vial shakes 
In his left hand. And there are foamy flakes 
Upon his lips. . . He leans. The time appears 
To pour the poison deftly in the ears. 
But the King hears ! 

The curtains move. The King's smile freezes. Eyes 
Meet eyes, with ghastliness and swift surmise. 
Then suddenly strong fingers snap the vial 
From d'Artois' hand. A voice to rouse espial 
Is all but raised. 

The desperate thrust is made 
Thrice with the poniard. 

Terribly afraid, 
D'Artois glides backward to the arrased door. 

[ 27 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
The King falls forward. Blood taps on the floor. 
A pool forms, darkling, spreading more and more. 

D'Artois slips through the door. His mates are back. 
"Does the King sleep .^" . . "Aye, just the old attack 
Of coughing — but — I soothed him. It — is late. 
I must inspect the guardroom at the gate !" 

The cards are tossed by candlelight. And then, 
"Look! How that shadow grows beneath the door!" 
"Some cresset's spilt." . , "What's this? . . Christ! 

Blood! — and more!" 
"Torches !" "Tear back that arras !" "Call your 

men !" 

A dark thin stream worms through the anteroom 

And slides 'neath curtains out into the gloom 

Of the great stair of state. The white stair gleams 

Like polished silver in the pale moonbeams 

Through the great stained-glass window diamond-paned. 

And then that thin black trickle has attained 

The stair-head, and flows down the marble flight. 

Sinuous, swift, and on to left and right. 

And underneath the palace doors, and out into the night. 



D'Artois, in the King's deep garden o'er the Town, 
Plunges through shrubbery, and flings him down 
On a marble bench in moonlight. Horrid fear 
Raves like a fury at his deafened ear. 

[38] 



FILMS 
Only it seems — as if — his heart could hear 
A strange thin dripping sound, and a thin sound 
Of sluggard tricklings threading the dark ground. 
He starts up in the moonlight, Down the path — 
Is it hut shadow? — steals a thread of wrath, 
A red bright thread. It reaches him. He reels. 
Wet! Warm! Wily athwart his steps it steals 
And stains his white court footgear, toes to heels. 
He tears the vile shoes from him. Far he throws 
Them to the bushes, — runs in silken hose. 
Falls in the laurels — up and on — ^who knows 
Where ? In a flash he scales an unguarded wall 
Of the great garden, heavily to fall 
On the other side, above the sleeping town. 
He seeks and finds a roadway. And falls down 
Again in moonlight. 

Thin and darkly red, 
Down the white road trickles a tortuous thread. 
Winding between small pebbles, curling round 
Obstructions, sliding, slipping o'er the ground. 
It meets, — and, twining, glides o'er d'Artois' hand,- 
Creeps up his arm, staining lace cuff and band 
And satin sleeve and shoulder and prone cheek. 

He twitches, shudders, — rises with a shriek ! 

He tears the fabric from his shoulders, tears 

The doublet off, pitches the coat he wears 

Far through a hedge, rubs his encrimsoned hand 

• [ 29 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
With poulticed leaves — staggers — can hardly standi 
And lurches down the road. 

And quietly 
The small red stream that scarcely eye can see 
Follows him down the path, still trickling sinuously. 

Later. Still moonlight. Down the stairs and down 
Of the steep street that leads into the town 
Leaps d'Artois crouching, seeking every shade 
That offers, shuddering lest some ambuscade 
Of prying eyes descry him; then once more 
Enters his own dark garden by a secret door. . . 
But trickling, trickling down the street's steep stairs 
The small thin stream of vengeance onward fares. . . 

And townsfolk early climbing 

Unto the distant chiming 

Of the hill-chapel's call to morning prayers 

See it, and point, and crowd with owlish glares. 

Marking its wet thread like a crimson clue 

Leading to d'Artois' garden, and therethrough. 

Amid the flowers, his awed retainers see 

The red thread fatefuUy 

Traverse white paths until it halts and is no more 

In a bright stain upon the steps of d'Artois' turret-door. 



Greyly in his grey tower he sits and shakes 
As if the floor beneath him writhed with snakes. 

[30 ] 



FILMS 
His eyes rise to the mirror. She is there, 
Wavering in the door. He whispers, "Clare \", — 
Whirls up with hands thrust backward as he leans 
Against the table. "You.''" . . "Dear Love!" . . "This 

means . . ?" 
"That now I know you love me ! Brokenly 
I say you sooth ; he snared and sorceried me. 
His power was from the fiend — and devil's blood 
Marks down his slayer!" 

"Mayhap mine own serpent mood 
Has marked me down. And yet I learned what tryst 
He made with her whom my dark alchemist 
Called daughter. Had I sought but cleaner hate . . I" 

"No ! A dog rots. But love returns too late 
Save for sweet parting! Ah, I love you well!" 

"Wrapped in such flame then, what are flames of Hell? 
Why, look! They shrivel and shrink. Love, Love! 

And we 
Blaze through this hour into Eternity !" 



And now the piano 

Changes to gay 

Romping, rollicking tune. 

For aqua tofano 

And poniard-play 

And blood beneath the moon. 

And alchemists and the villain's curse, 

[31 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Are faint as the gasping sigh that stirs 
Through the gloom of this room that has looked on 

doom. 
Hail to the rare buffoon I 

"Tinklety-tink!" the gay notes race. 
"Here is a queer familiar place 
That makes a miracle of your face, 
A magic all have seen. 
Sizz — but wouldn't you like to stop — 
ClicJcety-click — at this barber-shop. 
This rare Bohemian Barber-shop.^ 
Siz2 — well, watch the screen! 



Third Film: The Bohemian Barber-shop 

Dapper and deft, six little barbers 

Snick-snick together in a neat white row. 

Glittering with glass the bright shop harbors 

Six sprawled customers, languishing below 

The hands that grip and the clippers that clip. 

And the towels that slap and the razor's scrape, — 

All the tools that shape, from nose to nape, 

A man from a bruin, make a mummy glow. 

And fashion the features, and the hands, and the heels, 

Into shining beacons. So the film unreels. 

Noontide sunlight fills the shop. 
At the door, 

[ 32 ] 



FILMS 
Red and white, the striped pole 
(Heraldry that shows some soul!) 
Casts a shadow on the floor. 
Here one barber seeks his strop. 
At that table, hark the snore 

0£ the fat man, where the comic papers flutter by the 
score ! 

"Flick !" and "Flack \", the crouched boot-black 
Slaps his cloth, and plies his brush. 
"Snick-snick-snick!" the scissors click. 
Then there falls a sudden hush. 
See, the barbers all are staring 
And the customers are craning. 
Who is this who enters, wearing 
Topper, tailcoat, and a paining 
Wealth o£ beard and hair.? Disdaining 
All the bows each barber tenders, 
Lo, he slips his coat, and stands. 
With peculiar long white hands. 

In a shirt of fearful pattern crossed by marvelous 
suspenders ! > 

His trousers-wrinkles 
Are frightful taste. 
His dark hair sprinkles 
Down to his waist. 
His black beard reaches 
Near to his knee. 

[ 33] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
One barber beseeches 
Him volubly — 
With his customer finished — 
To have diminished 
That tangled cataract capillary. 
The stranger nods, but his eyes are wary. 
He seats himself , — and, once in the chair, he 
Seems to drowse. 

And from his brows 
The barber lifts a curling lock. 
Snip! . . 

It is like an electric shock ! 
Look at the mirror ! Look at the clock ! 
The plate-glass mirror suddenly ripples 
Concave, convex. 

The moon-faced clock is whizzing 
Its hands around and round. 
Like galvanized cripples 
The customers perplex 
The barbers with their antics. 
They writhe and slump and bound. 
The shaving mugs are fizzing. 
For the stranger's supple hands. 
Emerging from the sheet 
That covers him completely. 
Are making passes fleetly. 
Hypnotic, weird commands 
That mock the silly sunlight 
From the prosaic street ! 

[34] 



FILMS 
The mirror-flanking bottles, blue and red. 
Shoot up strange spills and quills that elongate 
And suddenly diminish, having fluffed to feathery head. 
And madly, at the rate 
Of dreams, the barbers all lay on 
With flashing razors, shimmering scissors, 
While all the chairs rotate 
Like demon whizzers. 
All daylight actuality is gone! 

See! The electrical massage machine 

Is burr-rring like a fiend let loose. 

The water pours 

From basins on to floors, 

A shining sluice. 

And — what the deuce! — 

The white soiled-towel holders 

Disgorge long tumbling strips 

Of flowering towels, purple, pink, and green. 

That trip the feet ; 

And from unfortunate shoulders 

Every tucked sheet 

Is whisked, — and foam and lather froths and drips 

Whitely across the scene. 

And as for hair, — 

Hair? It is everywhere! 

Black hair, brown hair, blonde hair and red 

Sprouts and curls and lengthens 

From every head. 

[35 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 

Even the bald pate turns beneath the eye 

To a capillary jungle on the sly. 

Over the floor. 

Full knee-deep now, — 

Out of the door 

Like a wild hay-mow. 

The hirsute horror engulfs the little shop. 

Stop, you devil-stranger! Good Lord, stop! 

Hippety-hop 

Dance the frantic crew 

Of barbers turned to jumping- jacks. The manicurist 
too 

Is shrieking. What avails "half-moons" politely scis- 
sored. 

When this fearful length of nails (begotten of that 
wizard!) 

Is pouring from the fingers of her "catch," like squirm- 
ing flails ! . . 

And the yellow Dandruff Cure 

And the fat Hirsutus bottle 

Their ruby streams and green 

Are playing on the mess ! 

Black magic, that is sure ! 

Oh swiftly, someone, throttle 

The author of a scene of such distress! 

And then the stranger rises 
In his weird suspenders. 
Still weaving of his fingers. 
And the shop surrenders 

[ 36 ] , 



FILMS 
To his further moods and tenses. 
Hypnotically waving 
His digits, he commences 
A master-task of shaving. 
For, drawing from his pocket 
A blade as sharp as scandal. 
He fits it to the socket 
Of an enormous handle ; 
And seizes one and other. 
And holds them in a vise. . . 
As bald as a billiard-ball they leave him in a trice! 

Staggering and stumbling 

Througli that rolling hairy sea. 

With acrobatic tumbling 

One by one they flee. 

Staring eyes and beaded brow, — 

Till — the shop is empty now. 

But — all's in place again! 

And the eye discovers then 

A swift and stealthy cat. 

That was not there before. 

Slinking through the door 

In a black top-hat! . . 

And the sunlight shimmers. And a passing "cop" 

Gawks through the door of the deserted barber-shop. . . 

And the film tails out to punctures, and the loud laughs 
stop. 

[37] 



SMOKE 

Pouring up from that office-building's chimney against 

the blue. 
Clots and gouts of dense white smoke are sailing. 
Up and out into sun that lights them and wind that 

shreds them away. 
Blinding white, dove-gray, 
Acrobatic masses of smoke are swirling and tumbling 

and trailing 
And dancing over the roofs to the sky of a vivid autumn 

day. 

Black smoke is a terror and wonder, 

And smoke that is purple like thunder, 

And smoke over foundries at night 

Wears a weird volcanic light. 

The smoke of a city fire glows 

Like the palpitant heart of a rose. 

Opal is smoke at evening, when roofs are the snow's. 

But from these smoke forms might be sculptured great 

symbols of joy and peace. 
They bulge forth to the sun like clouds, as white as the 

speckless ileece 
Of that one dazzling cloud in the delicate blue of the 

dome. 
Shaped like a fairy alp fringed with a spectral foam. 
Nymphs of the air, ghosts of the gods of Greece, 
Surf of the sky they seem in their bright release. 

[38] 



SMOKE 

The cornices of the office-building's roof 

Are hard and cold; its outlines are hard and cold. 

Its windows are like the eyes of selfish and cruel men. 

Glory, I cry, full glory then 

To these billowing masses of snowy smoke. 

These ephemeral but wildly immaculate plumes 

High and aloof 

Tossing above the ledgers and the looms. 

The dusty, drab, disheartened office rooms, 

The thousand petty tyrannies and glooms ! 

Cut me a cloak. 

Ye traders in sweated garments, in waists and gabar- 
dines. 

Though far beyond your means. 

Yet cut me a cloak from such cloud. 

Ye stout, purse-proud, 

Cigar-stupored dullards, and, lo! I will cry you aloud — 

Even you — for gods, you who fumble your fabrics, nor 
dream 

That the genius of steam 

Shames you in robes so bright 

Of sun-blinded immaculate white 

Even now from your high roofs billowing, heroic in riot 
astream. 



[39] 



GREEN TURTLES 

There was something live and stirring 
Past the smudgy, fly-specked glass, — 
Something strange and weird, averring. 
To the constant crowds that pass. 
More than what its glassy mate 
Shimmered on the eye. 
So I slowed my hurried gait 
As my feet went by. 

First I searched the further window, 

Happy as a child. 

Red tomatoes, silver fish, yellow lemons piled 

On a chopped ice bed; 

Brilliant color splashed about ! 

A sign in the window simply said, 

"Brook Trout." 

Then, "Corn on the Cob" I read; 

Saw the oyster-shells 

Gleam in scalloped rows — ^then, something else 

That set the doors hospitably creaking on their jambs 

And moved my mouth to watering: 

"Baked Soft Clams." 

But that was on a swing-board the other side the rise 

Of the low stone steps , . so I lifted up my eyes, 

[40] 



GREEN TURTLES 
And, in the Weird Window, I saw a parrot beak 
Nosing up the glass with its nostril-holes aseek. 
And I stood and I stared, with an A. D. T. 
And a leathern-aproned fellow. There we stood, we 

three, 
Gazing at the Turtles, with our dumbly-wondered 

"whys," 
While in deep eye-sockets rolled their dark grieved eyes. 

There they slopped about in a little muddy wet. 

Their hind-flippers shoving out a toe-claw slow, — 

Dreaming of the estuaries ? — trying to forget 

The West Indies, the Pacific, or the Gulf of Mexico .f* 

Each horny-crusted carapace had gleam and glow 

Of amber, polished agate, bronze or gold; and all 

together 
They nosed along the show-glass disgusted at the 

weather. 
Their flippers curved like scimetars in sheaths of var- 
nished leather. 
Their necks a web of wrinkles, — and their spirits low. 

"Green" is what they call them, but they are not green; 
They are crackled yellow lacquer, fleshy-black, and 

orange-shelled, — 
At least in shades of orange were the ones that I beheld. 
My blundering chelonians, that came, the waiter said. 
Only from Long Island. (But each searching, waving 

head 
Spoke of deep-sea beaches and of algae-meals instead!) 

[ 41 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Indeed they seemed a marvel, in that "Sea Food" place; 
They mesmerized my mind with their thrusting bulk! 
And I saw gigantic tortoises swimming round a hulk 
Sunk deep off Galapagos ; I saw the carapace 
Of the tortoise of the legend bear up the weighty mass 
Of this world, and the poet in Apollo come to pass 
Through a turtle's ribs and plates, till he shook the sun- 
rise gates 
With heaven-smiting harmony and song like Hippocras ! 
And then one turtle "turned turtle" while he sought 
An exit through this water that was firm and smooth and 

hard. 
And no use to struggle at, since one only tumbled flat — 
And back through cloudy years blew my startled thought 
To days by my memory silver-starred. 

******** 

There's a creek near the Susquehanna River 

Where the sunbeams dance and quiver 

And the mud lies caked and browned and baked. 

And the grasses sigh to the summer sky. 

And you mark, from the ooze upcraning, 

A shiny black head, disdaining 

The sky's bright blaze with its haughty gaze 

Of an eye like a bead; and soon indeed 

The sliders slip from the wet creek-lip. 

And then you can note on head and throat 

The golden stripes, as the splay-foot wipes 

On a reed, and the shell emerges well 

Of the tiny knight in his hauberk tight 

With his wrinkled flesh like a close black mesh 

[ *2 ] 



GREEN TURTLES 
Of light chain mail, and absurd toy tail. 
Oh red-bellied terrapin the black boys love, 
Up I see you heave with a hunch and a shove. 
Shoot your neck in its webbed elastic skin 
And crane with the hauteur of a mandarin. 
Your scarlet plastron is brave to see 
When one tilts you over carefully. 
But your black-lacquered coat would have graced, I 

know. 
The cabinet of the Magnifico. 

And your hose are embroidered with brilliant thread 
In stripes of gleaming gold or red. 
What if your snappishness shows you bilious, — 
You are sublimely supercilious ! 

My grandmother's house is white 

With bright green shutters bowed. 

'Tis a delightful, simple sight 

To see it from the road ! 

And if you want some milk and rusk. 

Turn down the lane and tap 

At the side screen-door, or seek the dusk 

Of the parlors, each an ample lap. 

From the little pillared porch, that twines 

With morning-glory vines. 

Once there was a garden bright 
Right before her door. 
All box-bordered of a height ; 
Flower-beds many score, 

[43 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Tan-bark walks that had the smell 
Of Heaven and a miracle^ 
And an arbor-gate as well! 

How good she was to one so small 
When "Nat/' the colored boy, was all 
My marvel ! — fit for Fame's green wreath! 
Why, he could whistle through his teeth 
And walk upon his pink-palmed hands, — 
And earn my Uncle's reprimands! 
And once, when I was rather sick, 
He brought me turtles from the "Crick," 
Those same red-bellied sliders, only 
Oh so small ! — and looking lonely, 
I thought. . . I put them in a bowl. 
And round they paddled, sick of soul 
For their sweet mud — and in the night. 
When small-boy eyes were sealed up tight. 
They hauled them up and dropped flip-flop 
From bowl's rim to the table-top, 
From table-top to matted floor. 
And lounged superbly out the door. 
And slid through grasses, proud and slick. 
And swaggered back into the "Crick." 

Bubble-throat basker, beaked fly-snapper. 
Prim and particular, pert and dapper, — 
Cumberland Valley, fail thou never 
Of these quaint denizens forever! 

******* 

[ 44 ] 



GREEN TURTLES 
My brain floundered back again. 
I heard the waiter saj, 

Flapping his napkin, — "Fine and fresh, today ! 
Turtle steak — thirty cents ! Turtle soup — fifteen !* 
I was glad they could not hear. 
I felt too mean ! 



[45 ] 



THE SUFFRAGE PROCESSION 

We marched in the Women's Parade. 
Our round yellow lanterns swayed 
Down the village street. 
Transparencies bobbed above. 
And along the line. 
The Autumn night was a thing to love. 
Cool and blue and divine, 
Ripe like wine. 

Our feet scuffed, beating time. 
To the drummers behind and before; 
And the foolish yellow flag I bore 

Was a ruddy banner rippling out to a ringing battle 
rhyme. 

As the replicating drumsticks rattled 

To the cymbals clashing, 

The stars wheeled in cohorts dense, embattled. 

Their bright spears flashing. 

"A-rubdub-rubdub-rubadubadub, 

The girl I left behind me!" 

In the ranks of the women before us 

Marching silent to our whistling chorus 

Flashed forth the face I love, merry and kind and bright. 

The eyes with their sweet and loyal light 

Thrilled to starry brilliance, upthrusting a banner o'er us 

Of blinding white. 

[ 46 ] 



THE SUFFRAGE PROCESSION 
I marched with the men behind — 
And yet, hand in hand with her, 
On a lonely mountain height 
I stood, and watched cloud-chasms fill with fire 
And the golden phoenix all our dreams desire 
Struggle blazing aloft like a great and flaming flower. 
With a crimson shower 
Of scattering sparks on his darkly smouldering pyre. 

Lonely purple peak 

Snow-strewn, 

Magnificent under the moon. 

Would you could speak ! 

You know so well which one of us holds your lease. 

Reaps the superb increase 

Of your meadows of flowery vision. 

Your pastures Elysian! 

Yet am I inheritor 

Through her of your galaxies. 

Your God-transfixing trees. 

Your red sunrise door. 

These that returned no more 

When I lusted and laughed of yore 

Now burst on my mind like arousing and cleansing surf 

On a baked and scurfy shore ! 

Loud o'er the wrangling drum 

These things cry "Come !" 

In the merry flame of her faith my fears are dumb. 

[47 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Our silly round yellow lanterns sway 
On to a sword-white dawn of day 
Whatever the weary wise men say ! 

" A-ruhduh-ruhaduh-aruhaduhaduh, 
The girl . . ?" 



[48 ] 



ON SUNDAY 

What are your Sundays to you ? To me they are heaven. 

I do not hurry through breakfast or rise at seven. 

I have time to play with Jim, 

Who is one and a half, yellow-haired, quite a jolly 

viking. 
With this earth a lot to his liking, 
Fond of adventures in words and an artist in whim; 
The Marcelline of the infant world, with the heart of 

a dauntless hero. 
And also a dash of tears 
That would soften even Nero. 

Then, if my pen is 

Slow, and the jobs are done, and she says I may. 

And the year's too late for a swim together, I ramble 

off toward the bay 
To play at tennis. 

In the autumn it sets the blood leaping 

And clears the brain to a cool, crisp-thinking joy 

To swing at the ball and to charge to the net and volley. 

Even to race "all out" for a lob to the base-line 

Or fizzle a manful smash with a smack "on the wood" ! 

The cold sweat stings on your forehead, the tape of 

your racket 
Sticks to your hand or grinds too gritty with sand 

[ 49 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
In your palm; but this cannot irk one for more than an 

instant. 
The play is too hot. 

And shuttlecock-battledore leaps the barbarous banter 
Of the doubles players. The grunts and the curses and 

sighs 
Of your partner, of your opponent, of you yourself, 
Float up like delectable incense. 

And his cross-court return forever shoots at my feet! 
Why can I only "get in" when the serve is a fault? 

The shower-bath starts with a sprinkle of drops that 
drum 

On the slatted floor of the bath-house. Then swish-swish- 

SWISH! it is mantling your shoulders, soaking your 
hair. 

Thrusting whole sheaves of icicles under your shudder- 
ing skin. 

"Yow!" you leap. "Yow, Yow!" and yank at the 
handle. 

SWISH! 

The confronting bay is all cold-blue glitter, 

But these fields and undulant hills and rich-colored 
woods 

Are wistful with afternoon sunlight, garnet, and bronze. 

The smell of the stalks of milkweed and withered grass, 

The flaunt of chestnut and beech 

And oak, in Assyrian robes, set raiment on God, 

[ 50 ] 



ON SUNDAY 

And throne Him on high in the ruddying afterglow 
That turns such an embered crimson through ash-colored 
clouds. 

He is there! 

Lo ! with all principalities^ angels, and powers of the air. 

He is there ! 

He careers in a chariot drawn by the blazing-eyed beasts 

Of St. John's Apocalypse sheer o'er the rioting sky; 

His face is the setting sun. 

Radiant, but sad, irradiating life. 

And solemn with finer meanings, a nobler mien; 

A lion-like face, and mournful, with a wild and golden 

mane. 
Yet with intelligence infinite shining in love all-wise 
Out of brilliant, not cruel, eyes ; 

Love in each lineament, majesty dwarfing the skies. 
The God that must reign ! 

On Sunday night 

At first we got our own suppers 

When even more "on our uppers" 

Than now, and the yellow lamp cast its mellow beam 

On a table of picnic dream. 

And we both spread many a theme 

With verbal jam, like our toast. And now we do much 

the same. 
Save for our cook. The babies quiet down, 

[ 51 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
The street sounds drown 

In darkness^ the chill stars sentry the sleeping hill. 
Hurry and worry are still. 
Peace breathes through the town 
Like a flicker of lambent flame — 
Peace and good-will. 

We read 

According to mood and need 

To each other or alone. 

Remarks and laughter thrown 

Hit or miss in the air to echo around the lamp 

Our enthusiasms come out, nose around, unruffle their 

wings, and stamp. 
Shake their silvery forelocks and curvet about, and 

champ 
The golden oats of some seer's fit phrase 
That we feed them, some poet's blossomy, succulent 

bays. 
And then we sit and gaze 

Long at a picture, and think that we think instead 
Of merely rechewing a chewed-out cud of the last thing 

said, 
And we simply cannot haul a heavy head 
Up thought's frail, difiicult, gleaming spider-thread. 
And it's time for the baby's bottle, and time — to — go — 

to — ^bed. 

I lie in my bed, and think of my soul, and decide 
I am only a mixture of animal spirits and pride 

[ 52 ] 



ON SUNDAY 

And conventional sleekness and sudden emotional 
blether. 

And I don't know whether 

I have a soul; but I lie in my bed and see 

A bright-green star in a violet haze through a moon- 
stark tree. 

Whee-ee-ee ! 



[53] 



NIGHT-MOTORING 

The high moon swinging before, 

And the big car swaying. 

Lifting the grade with a roar, 

Swerving and sliding. 

Leaping and purring, and playing 

With its insolent power, and checking and drifting and 
gliding ! 

The stare and glare of the light that scouted before us 

From a lip of curved shadow etched out the detail of the 
road 

Like a white, incandescent river, rippling and fleet, flow- 
ing to meet 

Our swift tyre's muffled and crisping, monotonous 
chorus — 
Halleluj ah ! the stride that we strode ! 

The wind whipped our cheeks till all being softened and 

glowed 
Or flashed with a glacial brilliance, and throbbed in our 

ears 
A steady pulsation surmounting and merging all fears 
And cares in some spirit triumph beyond the years. 

Things lunged at us out of the night. 
Great masses of shadow hurled past; 
Yellow eyes down the road blazed bright ; 

[ 54 ] 



NIGHT-MOTORING 
Our horn blew a Gabriel-blast: 
With a fillip of dust they were gone. 
Our car swayed on. 

Trees leaped toward our spectral light. 

Every leaf, in its ray, yellow-sere with some leprous 

blight. 
It seemed, every leaf-notch distinct ! 
Grass flowed past, of a poisonous green. 
Further shadows were ebony-inked; 
Like a painted canvas scene. 
Everything flashed unreal and flat to the eye, 
Faked, artificial, and mean. 

But in distance, beyond the unreeling white fences. 
Where the landscape moved more slowly. 
The moon, that absolves and dispenses. 
Made all things holy. 

The square orange windows of farms 

Where dark woodlands stretched slumberous arms. 

The surging great hills, vague and proud. 

The silvery curdle of cloud — 

All composed to a wonderful, soft-hued, visual prayer. 

The rich, passionate land lay bare 

To the nuptials of fierce white stars; and the hissing 

wind in our hair 
That started our strained eyes moist with its swift, cold 

kiss. 
Taught our swooning and leaping blood of this 
Strange, sorrow-begetting bliss, 

[55] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
This heartrending, ecstatic embrace 
Disembodied, that thrills through the tremulous air of 

night 
Stirring the thought to delirious flight 
Into fathomless space. 

Corn-shocks, close by, stood out sudden like some weird 

herd 
Of tousled beasts. Like a lion's our greeting purred. 
Where the road was mending, each stealthy assassin 

shadow 
Leaped alertly behind its heap of gray cut-stone. 
And merged in the dusk of the meadow. 

We flew not alone. 

By the side of our car its own shadow swayed 

And towered in the trees, ran the walls, unafraid 

Of the threatened raid from each ambuscade 

Of crouching houses or lurking hedges. 

Far down the road three ruby lights 

Appeared at its edges. 

We took the planks of a bridge with a rippling jar; 

We whirled to the heights ; 

And. then our car 

Plunged through a tunnel of purple gloom. 

Shaking volleys of bloom 

From trespassing boughs and bushes, and flung in a last 

flight down 
To the glow on the sky of the thousand-tentacled town! 

[ 56 ] 



THE ASYLUM 

I love my asylum, 
My home in the skies. 
Splashed with splendid color. 
Drenched in dazzling dyes : 
Clouds and winds and oceans, 
Blue above — below. 
I love my asylum. . . 
But the other inmates ? No! 

All in our asylum 

Are mad as can be. 

I stick my tongue at them. 

They stick their tongues at me. 

And purple authorities 

And gilded bloody gods 

All rule in our asylum 

With black whips and rods. 

And men cry Alleluia 
To hop-toads with wings; 
And women love poodles; 
And all love breaking things. 
Love swearing and peering, 
Love reptiles and lice. . . 
You see, in my asylum 
It isn't very nice. 

[ 57 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
But sometimes the windows 
Are burst by magic dawns, 
And then we see far vistas 
Of star-embroidered lawns 
Where rational angels 
Are laughing like fun. 
But, of course, in our asylum 
It simply isn't done! 

So one wears a crown, 
One piles his gold in rows. 
One balances a feather 
On the end of his nose. 
One's a sword-swallower. 
One mumbles One-two-three. 
And all in our asylum 
Are unhappy as can be. 

For, you see, the whole trouble 
(Though we're absolutely mad) 
Is, we fear a strange sensation 
We have sometimes had. 
So sometimes we huddle close 
And clutch at heart and brain. 
For I'll tell you what's the trouble: 
We're afraid of going — sane! 



I 58 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 

Personages: The Clown Introducer. 

The Villain of the Piece. 

The Lady Truth. 

The Watchman. 

The Blackamoor. 

The Proprietor. 
Interludes: The Yellow Cook, the Hobby-horse 

Knight, the Dragon. 

The Smiler and a Succession of Suitors. 



Start the music softly, as a delicate mist is shaken, for 

a thousand folded butterflies of rose and blue 

and brown 
Are tremoring on a golden gauze with stirring wings 

that waken in the patterns of this curtain now 

presented by the Clown. 
With his wand of intricate ivory — its tip an emerald 

gleam — he obsesses and distresses like the poign- 

ance of a dream; 
Stay! Our sighs may well come after. Now Delight 

would dance with Laughter. Floury-faced the 

Clown is smiling, in his clothes of silver-cream. 
Crimson pompom buttons shaking, and his tall cap 

tinkling bells, his strutting, baggy waggishness 

entices and compels; 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
And be certain to watch the curtain, — how its patterns 
shift and blend, rich and splendid till — the end — 
There! They float to butterflies. 
What bewildering brilliant dyes flutter and whirl and 
waft and rise, in a breath, beyond our eyes ! 

Now the golden gauze but hazes, now the gaze is 

dazed outright 
By a yellow moon benignant over hills in purple 

night. 
There's a foreground drenched in white, glimmering 

white, that plays in mazes. 
Here's the House of Cards before us, in a country of 

delight. 

Oh what best of all surprises ! for the cards are mam- 
moth sizes, and their ebony pips and scarlet, and 
the heads of queens and kings 

Brave with color, stare and charm us; and the House 
would fain disarm us, with its one red-curtained 
window, and its thread of smoke that swings 

In a faint and violet spiral dim and gyral toward the 
canopy, and curling down and twirling makes its 
exit through the wings. 

To left of stage the House is set. A red brick wall 

beside 
Runs clean across the stage to right. The double 

gates are green 

[ 60 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
And wide. Behind them spreads a tree, high enough 

not to hide 
Their height, with fringy creepers hung dim-tinted 

blooms between. 
Beyond the garden heap the hills — ^blue, low, and 

moon-delighted. 
Now, from the right, a figure steals beneath the 

garden-wall. 

His doublet's pied, his sleeves are slashed, his boots 

are splashed. Benighted, 
In gilded mask, with suavest grace, he makes his bow 

to all. 

He turns his face. You see 
A subtle gleam of glee. 
Dagger-like black mustachios. 
Dagger-like beard has he. 

With a sudden savage gesture, sure to test your mental 
poise. 

He waves one arm, and over it floats his Harmony- 
cloak, with musical notes 

Twining its snow-white lining. 

Far that inky shadow falls 

Over garden, house, and walls. 

As a thunder-cloud deploys. . . 

Zing! 

[61 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
A stride, 
Two catlike strides that undulate, and he has reached 

the garden-gate. 
A heavy key he draws. 
Clicks locks without a pause. 
Opens the gates a crevice, whirls his arms, — one final 

fling. 
And he's inside ! 

"Who was he?" buzz the voices from the white and 
floating faces 

Of the audience vapor-moulded to an ocean foaming free. 

"Yes, who is he?" . . They are dizzy with the dubious 
trail he traces 

Through the gate of lost illusions that is called Expe- 
diency. 

"Can it be that garden guards . . 9" 

Hush ! The bright red shutters open in the vivid House 
of Cards. 

Like a flower afloat 

Her face and throat 

Lift agleam from her drab dark dress. 

Her hair is a blaze 

Of broad sun-rays 

Caught close and braided above her brows. 

She twines her fingers. 

A sad smile lingers 

On perfect lips. Her eyes distress 

[ 63 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
Dumbly seeks. 
And her gesture speaks 
Of the gloom of her room 
In that tight card-house. 

She fades, reappears 

With a sea-green gown 

Laid out on her arms — and shakes it down 

From the window-sill. It is looped and twined 

With flowers of every color and kind. 

As it sways and turns 

Each glows and burns 

And gladdens the eyes 

With its dew-bright dyes. . . 

She withdraws it then — 

With kisses and tears 

Crushes it close — and disappears. 

In her drab black dress she is seen again 

Framed in the window's strict dark square, 

And, leaning forth, she turns and sees 

The round moon's beacon beyond that tree's 

Sweep of bough. 

Lovely despair 

Clutches her now. 

Her desperateness 

Bids her stretch arms to the moon.«p there. 

Dimly at first, in lines of light 

Like cloudy fringe that trails and lightens 

[63] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Across its sphere, the moon's orb brightens 
Into a Face — of no mere creature — 
The countenance of some angel jester 
In God's white courts. . . It grows more bright. 
Good for our lady ! The moon has guessed her 
Plight, — and so now its largest feature — 
That smiling mouth — is suddenly split 
Crimson and wide by a laughing-fit 
Which wrinkles its eyes closed. . . Jest? Deep 

earnest ! 
Out of that broad grin redly-furnaced 
Suddenly swarms (like moths against 
A glowing lamp benign and spherical) 
A fluttering flight of elves, dispensed ' 

From heaven's store-house of things chimaerical . . 
And immediately our mazed eyes find 
Dazzling streams of silver beams 
Which the moon has spread to the dusk behind 
That garden-wall! All spangled white 
An elf -troop descends those roads of light! 

Moon's mouth claps shut on that sudden dawn. 
In a wink each silver beam's withdrawn. 
And still, as we all watch deep in thrall 
Of the miracle, — see, how the garden wall 
Suddenly buds with those silver caps 
Feathered with blue! Gay- faced, if queer, 
There they appear. 
The glistening chaps. 
One — six — a dozen, in satin silk-wear 

[ 64 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
With pale blue facings, — ^the pages' suits 
Of some audience hall in the Faraway 
That they and their ilk wear! 
Now they display 

With utter rapture — these antic mutes — 
Looped from their hands in glistering strands 
A silken-woven steel-strong ladder. 
(Ah, how the lady's face grows gladder !) 
They swing it and dance atop the wall 
Then leap down lightly one and all. 
Bow with politeness, and, tip-toe reaching. 
Toss its gold cord to her rapt beseeching. 

She has it now. She draws it in. 

Flinging them kisses. They whirl a glad 

Saraband, — ^leap the wall like mad. 

And, as the Moon's face once more bursts 

To a second triumphant grin, they scamper 

Swift up its beams — ^like leaf-dry thirsts 

Absorbed in a wine-cask, or mice in a hamper. 

Ah, how she fondles her gift from the Moon, 

Pressing its silk against her cheek! 

Her eyes grow large and bright. Sweet tune 

Plays on her lips. If she could but speak! . 

To a peg in the window-niche she loops 

The golden cord, and the ladder droops 

Over the window-sill. And still 

She lingers (as every darer will). 

And, as she lingers and chin-on-hand 

Leans toward the garden, — that garden Tree 

[65 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Lights at once from within, mysteriously; 
Spreads broad ablaze (as a D jinn's command 
Had waked its splendor!). Each branch bears 
Golden apples or silver pears 
In sheaves of jewelled emerald leaves. 
And, like honey dripping among wild roses, 
Sweet notes of bird-song grow to warbling 
Wilder and trillier, more melodious 
Than ever was heard. . . Why, the nightingale 
One's yearning supposes in Arno's vale 
Amid oleanders and Tuscan marbling. 
To this were cacophonous and odious ! 

And the twiggy tips of the branches seem 

(JEnveined with life by this gorgeous dream) 

To twist to letters — a fringy fire 

In fading outline above the tree, 

A wraith-like script that curiously 

Seemed to write "ROMANCE," when its seething 

glitter ate 
Into the dark — did it not obliterate 
Even more swiftly! 

Our lady smiles 
Stilly, bewildered. Then the birds 
Burst into brighter cascades of words. 
The gems of bird-poetry — far too clear 
To be understood of the mortal ear, — 
Wafture on wafture of brilliant song 
In rapid ripples bestrewn with gems 

[ 66] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
From a thousand goblin diadems 
Emerges in surges from the tree. . . 
And there^ in the background, suddenly 
Two other hid trees shoot up and burst 
Ablaze with flowers and fruits like jewels 
And flickers of flame as from fairy fuels — 
In all the grandeur of the first. 

Golden-hair, in her card-board attic. 

Claps her white hands, and goes ecstatic. 

Farther and farther forth she strains 

And twists, in her drab black dress. 

As though she struggled in heavy chains . . 

Until . . a bearded face — no less ! — 

Suddenly pushes and disengages 

Itself from the fruit of the foremost tree, — 

A face that palely and balefuUy 

Yet wrinkles in smiles — and a gleam of glee. 

Proud and patrician shines his nose. 

Dagger-like black Tnustachios, 

Dagger-like heard has he! 

Two black-cloaked arms thrust forth. The hands 
Undulate in a rhythm of passes. 
Golden-hair stares. Her bright smile glasses. 
What has this new strange fear to do 
With her brief swift joy? She understands 
Nothing, and sinks her aching forehead 
Before that devil's gestures horrid. . . 

[ 67 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
And all the crimson and golden flames 
Of all three trees, at a Name of Names 
Whispered beneath her breath, — burn blue! 



First Interlude 

The blue light spreads and shimmers, and the large 
green double gateway 

Of the garden straightway glimmers in a spotlight fierce 
and white. 

Trees and house are thrown in shade, all else fades, — 
the sight is centred 

On those gates wherethrough first entered in our Villain 
of a Night. 

Now they softly swing ajar. 

Silver-glinting like a star. 

Though his armor's only pasteboard, from peaked shoe 
to vizor-bar. 

Out there bounces — with the flounces of his Hobby- 
horse a shaking — 

Aye, with helmet, spear, and plume, from that garden's 
inner gloom, 

A mediaeval warrior . . and few the steps he's taking 

Ere a Cook, all costumed yellow from his chef-like cap 
aflap to his apron, — yes, a fellow of much culi- 
nary art, — 

Follows quickly, smiling sickly, with his black-browed 
eyes a snap, and his hand upon his heart. 

[ 68 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
In his left hand — such a deft hand! — while his face in 

mock-disgust 
Wrinkles strangling, he is dangling, well — for bear the 

sight you must ! — 
One green fish, as dead's a nail. 
Though he makes it flap its tail 
By a twitch 
Of his wrist, . . 
As the knight goes strutting by 
It is swung against his open helm, and slaps him in 

the eye, — which 
Beastly candor fires the dander of Sir Knight indeed. 

Oh, Lord, 
There he draws his pasteboard sword ! . . 
But the Cook, his fish back-snatching, through a 

magnifying glass 
Scans its scales, and once more scans . . while the 

Knight, in ire a prance. 
Makes an ineffective pass. 
Then the Knight more strongly pounces. . . On the 

flounces chintzy-gay 
With which his Hobby's hung 
Small bright-ribboned sachet-bags bearing many curious 

tags 
Like "Sweetness," "Pureness," "Sentiment," are mar- 

velously strung. 
As that livid fish he catches on his spear-point, in the 

fray. 
Some of these he quickly snatches to his pommel. 

Kneeling down 

[ 69 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
(While Cook goggles like a clown) 
See, he lays the fish away 
All embalmed in bright sachet. 

In those bags of bright sachet ! Then he rises to pursue 
The Cook, and through the gateway straightway both 
elude the view! 

And now our lovely Lady in her open card-house case- 
ment 

Floats back within our vision. She is starting, half- 
awake. 

But the Tree's deep branches shake 

And the Villain — it is he! — 

Makes more passes, one, two, three . . 

With her sobs her shoulders shake 

And she shudders to abasement. . . 

Second Interlude 

Once again the radiance leaves her, and the spot-light 

centres low 
On the garden gates, — once more 
Opening just enough to show 
A green dragon who comes crawling through their 

gap, — and, as before. 
Forth there plunges with wild limges at this beast, as 

it emerges. 
That same pasteboard Knight, who urges 
His valanced, piebald pony 
Until the combat surges 

[ 70] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
And clatters. They have scuffled 
A space, when — quite unruffled. 
And staggering up — the dragon, 
(As if some ribald crony 
Were beseeching) swiftly reaching 
In his coils, — ^waves forth a flagon — 
A frosty-beaded flagon! 
And the Knight 
Drops his point. 
Shakes with joy in every joint 

And succumbs before the Tempter, quite forgetting to 
"aroint." 

Yes, that pure chivalric seeker 
Thrusts up vizor — drains the beaker! 

And it takes him with the colic 

As it should do — for of course 

This is equally symbolic! . . 

Dragon overtilts his horse. 

Smiles a wide and toothy smile to the audience, and 

straightway 
By the heels yanks Knight and Hobby-horse within the 

closing gateway! 



Yet Her trance seems but the brighter, as again the 

scene grows lighter 
And the trees blaze forth once more twice as brilliant 

as before 



[71 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 

And that devil from the tree, with his weird agility, 

Leaps down lightly on the wall, footing mute a sprightly 
dance, — 

See, our Lady rises slowly, grasps the woven silken 
ladder. 

Steps with grace upon the sill . . (Is she bending to his 
will. 

She, the far-withheld and holy?) 

Ah, his cloak is blowing, showing the false black har- 
monics twined 

On the silk with which it's lined! It is waving in a 
madder 

Far more evil weaving fashion! . . In his hand a gold 
guitar 

Glitters now, as down he leaps. 

Like black wings his cloak downsweeps! 

Light he strolls beneath her window, thrumming, hum- 
ming half a bar. 

Down the silken strands she trembles, step by step, a 
fallen star! 

She wavers. In his gratitude 
He strikes a sprightly attitude. 
Much old romantic platitude 
He genuflects and gestures. 
Then, swiftly and in passion — 
And a very different fashion — 

He hurls his music from him, he sweeps in all her ves- 
tures 

[ 72 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
The Lady from the ladder to his shoulder. Swift as 

light 
He's before the gates, within them, and they close upon 

the sight, — 
Till, as swift, and past our hoping, 
Lo, he reappears alone ! 

From a pocket of his cloak he turns in the locks 
A big brass key. . . Then up he leaps and rocks 
With green evil silent mirth on the wall's white coping 
Of moon- washed stone ! 

His tongue licks his cheek, an index-finger steals 
Pointing to the Card House, as he kicks his heels. 
With laughter he is weak. He counts in pantomime 
Coins into his palm. {More crime? More crime?) 
He streams shadow-money through his fingers, yards 

and yards; 
And he gestures toward the cellar of the moonlit House 

of Cards. 

As I feared. 
He's disappeared 
Down behind the wall. 

And now the jewelled proud 
Trees in the background are extinguished. Like a 

shroud 
The boughs of the big tree burn with only dim 
Blue lights. The Moon's face, in heaven high a swim. 
Takes a wan pained look, through a scud of murky 

cloud. 

[ 73 ] ■ 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Third Interlude 

From the right, in a litter of shoddy glitter and cheap 

gimcrackery, borne by lackeys. 
Beneath the wall — funereal — enter The Smiler, stout 

and bland ! 
In a high silk hat and a cream-colored vest with a great 

gold chain, he lolls in his nest 
Of rugs and cushions ; and, like a sack, he's creased and 

protuberant. Each fat hand 
Sticks up from billows of sofa-pillows and soft suave 

cushions. How ringed they are 
With jewels! Each holds a black cigar winking at tip 

with a faint red star. . . 
They set him down before the gates, and each lackey 

bows — and each lackey waits. 
His heavy jowls, his flabby lips, his whole small soul 

in complete eclipse. 
His little swine eyes and his puffy chins — must conjure 

forth sighs as well as grins. 

And slowly out of the wings defile a foredoomed crew 
to face his — Smile. 

First comes the Poet, black-velvet clad in doublet and 

hose, with ink-horn swung 
At girdle, — a tow-headed likely lad of ruddy cheeks and 

a smile still young. 
He bows to the Smiler, unrolls his scroll, and declaims — 

in silence — his passionate ire. 
Reshaping the world to his soul's desire. . . 

[ 74 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
The Smiler shakes through all his girth and swings his 

cigar to his rhythmic mirth. 
The Poet starts back in hot despair, swears blue murder 

and tears his hair. 
And passes on . . 

Next comes the Preacher 
Round-collared in black. He points above. 
He bangs on a book, — his every feature works with a 

passionate plea for love. 
The Smiler motions him brusquely to pass, with a silent 

guffaw at his pale "Alas!" 

Third of the Suitors, a man with sacks of soil. He 

plunges one hand in each. 
And holds them high. The one word "Tax" flares black 

from his smock. In lieu of speech. 
He shakes two green sods in the Smiler's face. But the 

other simply doubles in glee. 
And at last, controlling one mad grimace, jabs "On!", 

with his thumb, to number Three. 

And now a fourth Suitor meets the sight, with firm 

strong features and eyes alight. 
He presents a small white platform set with many a 

dream-tower's minaret, 
But based on the close-knit stones of fact. Offhand he 

salutes with more zest than tact 
The plethoric Smiler, — and displays his model white 

dream, shows the many ways 

[75] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 

Each ceiling and floor and window and door works in 
that house — how every cell 

Of the caravansery takes the sun — and a thousand 
smaller details as well. 

Indeed, as you see him rate and list 'em, from State- 
ownership to the plumbing-system. 

It all seems very neatly done. 

Sut the Smiler simply bellows with mirth, and promptly 
orders him off the Earth. 

So, suddenly next, with a smoky torch furious crimson, 

and fit to scorch 
Earth and sky, — and a rolling eye and naked torso and 

maniac cry. 
With a red scarf knotted about his head and overalls 

splashed and streaked with red. 
In rushes — no Suitor! — but some man-brute, or some 

devil arraigning his hoggish tutor. . . 
Yet the Smiler simply claps hand on hand, chuckling, 

and at that quick command 
Two coal-black slaves each tall as a tower, one hung 

with coins, one crowned with power. 
Leap on the rebel from the rear, tread out his torch, and 

then, with a leer 
Shackle him fast. . . The lackeys raise their litter. . . 

The Smiler rocks and sways 
Kissing his hand. All disappear. 

* * * * ** * « 

[ 76 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
And now, with a ding, with a ding-dong-dang. 
Soft and afar we hear a bell's harangue: 
Mellow clang-clang-clang 
From a bell, coming nearer. 

It is clearer. It ceases, and a faint voice swells 
Sing-song, like the bell's — if bells but sang. 

Oyez, oyez, oyez, — a-all's we-el! 
Oyez, oyez, oyez, — a-all's well! 

Hear it swell, nearer, clearer, — swell on widening 
vibrant swell! 

From the right, beneath the wall, a figure ambles with 

a lantern. 
It casts an orange circle on before. 
His shoe-buckles glitter and his cocked hat glistens. 
He raises a finger, and he stops and listens. 
He smiles very wisely as he tries and tests the latches 
Of the garden-door. 
He hums a bit by snatches. . . 
His great-coat is bulging with yellow parchment 

packets. 
They flutter from his pockets and bristle from his 

j ackets. 
All sealed with red sealing-wax. Of jackets half a 

score 
And his great-coat and his hat he divests himself, and 

rests him 
On this rolled impromptu cushion by the garden-door. 

[ 77 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
The chimney of the House of Cards is shaking with 

the ague. 
The smoke no longer drifts from it. A head and 

shoulders rise 
So darkly from it suddenly, so inchoate and vague, you 
Have hardly rubbed your eyes, when a figure of sur- 
prise 
Worms forth erect, with bottle-brush, and crouches 

on the ridgepole 
And listens. Then, cautiously, all black, see him lean, 
Slide inkily the sloping roof and drop before the scene. 

Let my words declare his wrong, in 

The Bi^ackamoor's Silent, Song 

I am wedged in the dark, in the dim, 

In the dust, in the heat. 

You have said "Apple-blossoms are sweet". 

But they are not for him ! 

You tell me that sunsets are splendid. 

They have not befriended 

My work in the deep-layered grime 

As the chimney I climb. 

The chimney of Time 

In your delicate, beautiful house. 

Your gay-colored retreat. 

And, if chimneys let out on the skies. 
With the filth in my eyes 

[78] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
Late at nighty — ^with the soot in my ears 
And my eyes full of tears. 
Stars are blurred, they are dizzy for me, 
They are cruel to see. . . 
Oh ye fortunate, hearken the poor 
Stifled song of a sad Blackamoor ! 

In the filth, in the soot, in the grime, 

I am sin, I am crime; 

And you feed me the billowing smoke 

Of your dreams, while I choke; 

And you say that the chimney must be — 

So I see. So I see ! 

But foul chimneys are frantic to cure 

The despair of a poor Blackamoor ! 

But our fires must be kindled, you say, — 

Our meals cooked every day. 

Our dreams dreamed in the selfish old way,- 

Man, the world is gay — gay! 

Man, have faith, — oh, be humble, repine 

Not for jewel or vine, — 

Clean our chimney, and sweat, and be sure 

God remembers a poor Blackamoor! 

But — I point to that moon, and I swear 

By tonight's fragrant air, 

I shall sit in her Ivory Chair. 

Since your joy is my bitter despair, 

[ 79] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
I shall rend, I shall strive, I shall dare! 
Card-House folk, have a care ! 
All the dirtiness man may endure 
Has been fed to this poor Blackamoor ! 



He is a limber lad indeed, for all the soot he shows. 
He capers in the moonlight, sets a finger by his nose. 
And steals to where the sleeping watchman snores in 

golden doze. 
He tries the door. 'Tis locked. But is his venture 

blocked ? 
Ah no! He filches craftily, while the sleeper twitches 

dreamfully, his ponderous and golden key. 
He turns it in the channels. Right! The gate swings 

inward on — the night! 
Black velvet night, with whispering leaves. . . But what 

is this we see.'* 
To the tall and moon-etched trunk of that overhanging 

tree, 
As the gates are opened wide. 
For the first time and the last. 
And the spotlight seeks and finds her — there's our 

golden girl — ^bound fast. 
Hair dishevelled — there — inside! 
And the web-work that enwinds her is a maze of colored 

ribbons tightly bound, but strong as steel. 
They are twisted neck to ankles. Round the trunk they 

wrap and reel. 

[80 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
Down the Blackamoor drops, distraught. 
On his knees ; and, frenzied then, 
In the agony of his thought. 
Leaps outside and in again, — 
Fears to touch her, — suddenly 
Clasps his arms around — ^the tree. 
And uproots it! 

In an instant (here the kettledrums should thunder) 
Pale blue flames shoot up from under and the branches 

wither blackly. 
Yet, though ribbon-bonds fall slackly, — prone our Lady 
sinks, a faint. 

Then the Blackamoor, anguish-shaken, easing down the 

withered tree. 
Wildly and amazedly 
Bends and listens o'er his saint. 
Rushes forth by wit forsaken, 
Cracks his knuckles furiously. 
And, as now he gestures madder, 
Suddenly sights the silken ladder 
From the open Card-House window — scuds across and 

climbs its strands 
Jerking nervous feet and hands. 
Rubs his chin 
And enters in. . . 

The red shutters clap behind him . . and the caterwauls 

begin! 
Inner riot shakes those shutters. 

[ 81 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Watchman wakens all a pout. 
Sits up slowly, blinks in doubt. 
Listens, raises both his eyebrows as to say, "What's 

this about?". 
And carefully and prayerfully puts on his many 

jackets. 
And stolidly and solidly restores his red-taped packets 
To each capacious pocket, takes his lantern, throws 

the chest of him — 
Or his hummock of a stomach that projects beyond 

the rest of him — 
And, waddling with dignity, he reaches up and raps 
At those shutters. 

Immediate each scarlet shutter claps 
Widely open. In striped night-cap and a wildly 

whiskered face 
The Proprietor appears, furious crimson to the ears, — ■ 
And he holds the Blackamoor by a clutch both fierce 
and sure 

In disgrace! 

Oh their gestures and grimaces, oh the faces that 

they make! 
If they only were to talk it, every soul would start 

awake 
In that strange and eerie country. Ah, but see! 
While still they wrangle. 

Bicker and objurgate and jangle. 
Quite revived, our lovely Lady suddenly lifts her 
golden head 

[82] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
In the garden. Next — she's sped 
Through the gates. . . Each garden-bed — 
Circles, oblongs, squares or crescents — 
Weirdly writhes with phosphorescence; 
And she just has time to start 
Against one wall, with arms outspread. 
When — the Villain comes prancing out 
With green baleful looks that dart. 
And behold ! beneath his cloak 
Close he hugs — the Bags of Gold 
From the well-stored Card House cellar (Oh it's time 

that you were told !) 
But he pales with horrid doubt 
In a fit that seems to choke. 
Which is lovely to behold! 

From the window, mouthing vainly and insanely, 

fever-shook. 
See the Blackamoor — pointing, panting. Then at 

last — at last they look! 

But the watchman's hardly agile, and a woman's grip 

is fragile. 
Our dagger-bearded Villain plunges snarling from the 

scene. 
Though he drops a tithe of treasure, what he takes is 

past all measure. 
So at least thinks night-capped Father by his show 

of frantic spleen! 

[83] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
The Watchman is nonplussed. He gapes and he feels 
For all of his packets in all of his pockets. 
He studies their text^ and he studies their seals. 
He turns to the law on Purloining of Lockets. 
He turns to the ordinance, penalties stating 
For Eating and Sleeping by those without rating 
In one of the Blue Books. He turns to the section 
Of Forfeits and Fines for a Mood of Dejection. 
And at last he draws forth his old pair of horn glasses 
And sits down to read, open-minded and bland. 
The procedure laid down by the law of the land. 
Quite remote and unmoved by dull time as it passes, 
But grumbling perforce at the mad "lower classes." 

The Blackamoor, freed by the Father grown frantic. 
Has slid down the ladder. . . He bends on one knee 
To the Girl still quite wan with her struggle upon 
The escape of the Villain. And yet she's romantic 
Enough, 'spite her tactical grasp of the practical. 
Brightly to blush at his beautiful plea. 
He has won her at once. Did he not set her free? 
From that prisoning tree? 
Oh rapture ! Rej oice ! 

And now, finding his voice. 

For the one word spoken 

On-stage — the whole weird silence is broken 

By the Blackamoor's "Pouf!", as he whirls, and flings 

A fist toward the House of Cards. 

[84 ] 



THE BLACKAMOOR'S PANTOMIME 
The night-capped Proprietor's head disappears. 
The whole bright structure totters and swings. 
And flatly about his astonished ears 
Tumbles to gaudy shards. 

Only the chimney, that drove right through 
That edifice gilded and builded askew 
Upthrusts in the moonlight staimch and black. 
And, bowing again, the Chimney-jack 
Points to its fire-place base, which seems 
(In this land of dreams) like a golden door 
That opens inward. . . 

Out of the core 
Of the chimney-breast, a Beautiful Thing 
In soft silver drest, and with either wing 
Of glittering, dazzling pearl, 
Suddenly stands 
With outstretched hands 
And beckons the happy Blackamoor 
To enter in through that shining door 
With his glorious golden girl! 



[ 85 ] 



MAD BLAKE 

Blake saw a treefuU of angels at Peckham Rye, 

And his hands could lay hold on the tiger's terrible 

heart. 
Blake knew how deep is Hell, and Heaven how high. 
And could build the universe from one tiny part. 
Blake heard the asides of God, as with furrowed brow 
He sifts the star-streams between the Then and the 

Now, 
In vast infant sagacity brooding, an infant's grace 
Shining serene on his simple, benignant face. 

Blake was mad, they say, — and Space's Pandora-box 
Loosed its wonders upon him — devils, but angels indeed. 
I, they say, aip sane, but no key of mine unlocks 
One lock of one gate wherethrough Heaven's glory is 

freed. 
And I stand and I hold my breath, daylong, yearlong. 
Out of comfort and easy dreaming evermore starting 

awake, — 
Yearning beyond all sanity for some echo of that Song 
Of Songs that was sung to the soul of the madman, 

Blake! 



[ 86 ] 



JALDABAOTH 

[There is a third person in a Gnostic Creation legend from 
which the name of my demiurge is derived. The true legend — 
a snake-worshipping one — has it that Darkness, the Father 
of all, begot a daughter, the Wisdom of God, who knew Life; 
the son of her agony being Jaldavaoth, the god who creates. 
He creates the world of the body, a clumsy imitation of the 
world of the Spirit, etc. But the only borrowing from this 
legend has been the name of my protagonist. This is an 
entirely dissimilar imaginative attempt.] 

In a yeast of fire-flecked mist 

Beyond the paths of the planets 

Strove Jaldabaoth, the strong Angel, the son of Chaos. 

In that terrible, trembling abyss of the Divine Nature 

In whose pleroma the sage Heracleon 

Saw emanating aeons — assigned and ordered 

Subordinate gods — 

Time was but faint effulgence. 

Scarcely a tremor in the ether. 

Psyche, the sensuous soul. 

Was lost in the palpitant pneuma 

That quivered like heat round a flame, where Jaldabaoth 

Wrestled with Chaos, 

Kneading and shaping and moulding 

And working and welding a world 

Out of the ether, 

[87 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
From the negation of matter. 
Alone in the wreathing, seething, monstrous mist. 
Alone. 

Terrible trembling and shuddering shook the abyss. 
Like the rumbling hollow drums of brute barbarians 
Thudded instant in repetition, purring to thunder, 
Breaking and booming and roaring high to a crepitant 

crash 
And a dazzling lightning flash. 

With billows of purple smoke, rolling to inky storm. 
Following after. 

Thep far and faint came laughter, 
Tricklings of infinite laughter. 
Thin streams of molten silver scattering down 
Through the heavy heaven of cloud, — 
Remote and ironic laughter. 

Yet still strove Jaldabaoth, demiurge divine. 

The strong Angel, the son of Chaos, — 

Grappling the clotted and fluid cloud to his breast. 

Gripping with bulging-muscled enormous thighs 

The cloud-stuff to him — striving and struggling with 

cloud 
Even as Ixion, saith legend, begat the centaurs 
When Juno slipped from her white and cumulous sem- 
blance 
Back to the shining gates. 
Back to the laughter-clanging gplden gates 

[88] 



JALDABAOTH 
Leaving her bronze-thewed lover frenziedly clinging her 

image, 
Clasping celestial cheat. 

Horns in the heaven. 

Flaring horns of scorn from the corners of heaven 

Wound wire-cruel sound 

And fierce flagellation 

Round the soul of Jaldabaoth. 

But in his arms 

As clay is kneaded and worked 

A world took form. 

Then the strong Angel 

Stooped 'neath his feet for a fiery sun, 

Shattered it 'twixt the gripe of his fingers, let fall 

The glistering, glowing fragments in midst of his world. 

Strewing the shards as a man sows seed, — 

Scattering them. 

And again. 

And again 

He kneaded and worked his world between his knees 

Till his eyes were blind with sweat. 

Jaldabaoth 

Flung forth one arm, and snatched a golden web 

Of glimmering stars out of the misty abyss. 

And crushed them to paste against the arch of his thigh 

[ 89 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
And powdered them to fine dust beneath his heel 
And mixed them into the spinning maelstrom of his 

world. 
And his world quickened and twirled and shaped toward 

a sphere. 

His world convulsed, and flickered with gaseous fumes, 
And flared into flame. 

And Jaldabaoth drenched it with hissing mist. 

His world flung off planet on planet 
Like smoke-rings or bubbles blown. 
They spun in eccentric orbits. . . Centring them all 
The coagulate matter dwindled and dwindled to throb- 
bing pulses 
Of rosy or crimson embers, 
And so diminished 
Into a central sun 
Of quivering heat and light. 

And that first sun cooled, and the planets clanged in 

anger. 
And hissed in mist — and another glowing sun 
Swam forth, and other orbits ellipsed its Space. 

Jaldabaoth was resting. 

He squatted on sinewy heels above his world 

Of little silver planets and golden suns — 

[ 90] 



JALDABAOTH 
And infinitesimal gems of sapphire water 
Winking back from some turning sphere. 

He had not yet made Man. 

His agate eyes were full of the lack . . but behind him 
Came God, as one walks in a garden, and laid his touch 
On his shoulder. And the flame-haired head flung back 
And Jaldabaoth looked into the eyes of God. 

And God breathed on his Angel's world. 

Making Man. 

And God drew blue skies like the folds of a cloak about 

his face 
And trod once more on his rounds of Eternity 
To the next white outpost of the next demiurge. 

Then languor and idleness came on that strong Angel. 
Centuries passed as he slowly turned on his side 
And stretched luxuriously. 
For he was weary. 

And then first on his eyes he was 'ware of a prickling 

and tingling 
And then a tremor that startled through all his being, 
A tremor he could not still. 
His lazy lids opened. He peered through cloud on his 

world. 
It spun in its Space like small and rhythmic sound. 

[ 91 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Yet something like a fizzing of very tiny flies 
Perturbed its whirl. 

And again the pricking and tingling through the being 
Of Jaldabaoth. 

For upon its smallest of planets, on one of the tiniest 

islands, 
The first, fur-skinned, flint-axed Doubter had whispered 

"Why?" 

Then Jaldabaoth was wroth, and he sent a plague and 

an earthquake, 
And the voice was still. 

And the Angel sank back, and slumbered, and centuries 
passed. 

Again the prickling and tingling. 

More irritant now, more and more insistent. . . 

Cities were spread on one planet. In one of the cities 

A scientist in an infinitesimal laboratory 

Laid his weary forehead down 'mid a stench of bubbling 

test-tubes 
And shuddered "Why.''" 
And out of the alleys of cities 
Oppression and extortion and filth and famine 
Fumed upward "Why.''" — and in a house of healing 

[ 92 ] 



JALDABAOTH 
A surgeon with baffled scalpel above a twisted wreck 

half-human. 
That his work had saved to life, cursed coldly, "Why?" 
A farmer's wife scanning an empty prairie 
Echoed his thought. 

A clerk at his desk, a doughty general dying. 
In half-delirium, played with the answerless question. 
Youth and age and houses of death and birth 
And camp and court and land and sea unceasing 
Reiterated the word in many tongues. 

"Is there a God.'' Who is our God, and Why.f* 
What is this life.? And Why?" 

Jaldabaoth, rousing, gazed at his world 

With wild new wonder . . 

And, as he gazed, his gaze 

Grew microscopic, and centred upon one city 

Set in the midst of a planet, and on one house 

Set in the midst of that city, and on one room 

In the house, and the smiling face of the man in that 

room. 
The smile was not good to see. 

The man sat at a desk littered with papers, 
A pen in his hand. 

The man's lip curled, as he said: 

"God or no God, I had made a better world. 

God or no God, I defy you, I blaspheme you. 

[ 93 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
All has been taken from me except one thing 
My hate of you. 

Your priesthood is great — for all men are afraid. 
But I am not afraid. 

I am the least of atoms in your bad universe, 
Urged to obey your laws. 
Fed with fancies, creating superstitions. 
Cheating and killing each other, 
Juggling their Justice and Sunday Righteousness, 
Clutching, snarling and denying, 

Your 'children' swarm on this planet, and crawl to Fear. 
But I am not afraid. 

Visit me now with sudden and visible torture. 
Kill me slowly in one of your sweet and infinite 
Tortures reserved for the brave. 
Shred me between your fingers now or soon, 
After your high and holy Godlike fashion; 
Set me riddles, and kill that I cannot solve them. 
Damn the brain and the heart you made to beat 
Out of your infinite mercy. . . 
I am not afraid. 
I hate you, I blaspheme you!" 

The earth-creature's brain sucked down the very soul 
Of Jaldabaoth, and laughed and mocked in its light. 

And the son of Chaos looked on his son of chaos 
And saw no fear. 

Then Jaldabaoth was afraid. 

[ 94 ] 



JALDABAOTH 
With a vast and terrible wrench he freed his eyes 
And his soul from the eyes and soul of the earthly 

brain. . . 
And the form of the man on earth swayed in his chair 
And sprawled to the floor in death. 

But fixed in the being of Jaldabaoth, he became 

A troubling mote, a stinging vexation of spirit. 

So the strong Angel rose, and staggered, and reeled 

Through the terrible, trembling abyss of the Divine 

Nature, 
To find God. 

But God was with His Angel as a vast and invisible 

power 
That knew his questions: "Why have You made us then 
To make such toys?" and "These toys are terrible, 
A vengeance, a sharp disaster !" and, worst of all, 
"I have miscreated! Fiends, we are fiends, we are 

fiends !" 

The eyes of the Angel dilated and diminished 

With blazing torture, the ether shuddered around him. 

He whirled on his steps as if to strive with God. 

But God was both near and remote, and could not be 
grasped. 

Then down in utter agony, Jaldabaoth 

Sank, and the darkness was sick with his horrible tears. 

[ 95 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
And over and over again 
"What is this Life we have played with!" he sobbed 

and sobbed. 
"What is this Life— and Why?" 

Then speaking in perfect silence God answered, saying: 

"You too are only a thought within my brain, 

A figment of my fancy, 

A thing contrived. 

But that which is created in my fancy, 

A part of my thought. 

Can never die, but must have eternal life. 

For I am eternal, awfully eternal, 

And there is no end. 

But my thought had pity on me. 

And it made for me metes and bounds, and anger and 

tears. 
And joy and sorrow . . 

And aeons, and angels, and men to rejoice and despair. 
I am the father of all, unutterably lonely. 
Save for my thoughts that are ye. 
Ye all are stored in my memory that is Heaven, 
There shall ye rest. 

But while ye are my thoughts ye can have no rest. 
For my Thought is forever the drudge of timeless 

time. . . 
But when my own thought sickens, I seek for a new 
Mood and manner of thought. . . 
Therefore come rest in my memory, Jaldabaoth. 
This mood of my thought is done." 

[ 96 ] 



JALDABAOTH 
And the voice ceased, and the void reeled, and the strong 

Angel 
Basked in the retrospect of the infinite brain. 



[ 9T ] 



HOW TO CATCH UNICORNS 

Its cloven hoof print on the sand 
Will lead you — ^where? 
Into a phantasmagoric land — 
Beware ! 

There all the bright streams run up-hill. 
The birds on every tree are still. 
But from stocks and stones clear voices come 
That should be dumb. 

If you have taken along a net, 

A noose, a prod. 

You'll be waiting in the forest yet . . 

Nid — nod ! 

In a virgin's lap the beast slept sound, 
They say . . but I — but I — 
I think (Is anyone around?) 
That's just a lie! 

If you have taken a musketoon 
To flinders 'twill flash 'neath the wizard moon. 
So I should take browned batter-cake. 
Hot-buttered inside, like foam to flake. 

[ 98 ] 



HOW TO CATCH UNICORNS 
And I should take an easy heart 
And a whimsical face. 

And a tied-up lunch of sandwich and tart, 
And spread a cloth in the open chase. 

And then I should pretend to snore. 

And I'd hear a snort, and I'd hear a roar. 
The wind of a mane and a tail, and four 
Wild hoofs prancing the forest-floor. 

And I'd open my eyes on a flashing horn — 
And see the Unicorn ! 

Paladins fierce and virgins sweet . . 
But he's never had anything to eat! 
Knights have tramped in their iron-mong'ry . . 
But nobody thought — that's all! — he's hungry! 



Addendum 

Really hungry ! Good Lord deliver us. 
The Unicorn is not carnivorous! 



[ 99] 



THE HORSE THIEF 

There he moved, cropping the grass at the purple 
canyon's lip. 
His mane was mixed with the moonlight that silvered 
his snow-white side. 
For the moon sailed out of a cloud with the wake of a 
spectral ship. 
I crouched and I crawled on my belly, my lariat coil 
looped wide. 

Dimly and dark the mesas broke on the starry sky. 
A pall covered every color of their gorgeous glory at 
noon. 
I smelt the yucca and mesquite, and stifled my heart's 
quick cry. 
And wormed and crawled on my belly to where he 
moved against the moon! 

Some Moorish barb was that mustang's sire. His lines 
were beyond all wonder. 
From the prick of his ears to the flow of his tail he 
ached in my throat and eyes. 
Steel and velvet grace! As the prophet says, God had 
"clothed his neck with thunder." 
Oh, marvelous with the drifting cloud he drifted 
across the skies ! 

[ 100 ] 



THE HORSE THIEF 
And then I was near at hand — crouched, and balanced, 
and cast the coil; 
And the moon was smothered in cloud, and the rope 
through my hands with a rip! 
But somehow I gripped and clung, with the blood in my 
brain a boil, — 
With a turn round the rugged tree-stump there on the 
purple canyon's lip. 

Right into the stars he reared aloft, his red eye rolling 
and raging. 
He whirled and sunfished and lashed, and rocked the 
earth to thunder and flame. 
He squealed like a regular devil horse. I was haggard 
and spent and aging — 
Roped clean, but almost storming clear, his fury too 
fierce to tame. 

And I cursed myself for a tenderfoot moon-dazzled to 
play the part. 
But I was doubly desperate then, with the posse 
pulled out from town. 
Or I'd never have tried it. I only knew I must get a 
mount and a start. 
The filly had snapped her foreleg short. I had had to 
shoot her down. 

So there he struggled and strangled, and I snubbed him 
around the tree. 

[ 101 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Nearer, a little nearer — hoofs planted, and lolling 
tongue — 
Till a sudden slack pitched me backward. He reared 
right on top of me. 
Mother of God — that moment! He missed me . . 
and up I swung. 

Somehow, gone daft completely and clawing a bunch of 
his mane. 
As he stumbled and tripped in the lariat, there I 
was — up and astride 
And cursing for seven counties ! And the mustang ? 
Just insane! 
Crack-bang! went the rope; we cannoned off the 
tree — then — gods, that ride ! 

A rocket — that's all, a rocket ! I dug with my teeth and 
nails. 
Why, we never hit even the high spots (though I 
hardly remember things). 
But I heard a monstrous booming like a thunder of 
flapping sails 
When he spread — well, call me a liar!^ — when he 
spread those wings, those wings ! 

So white that my eyes were blinded, thick-feathered and 
wide unfurled. 
They beat the air into billows. We sailed, and the 
earth was gone. 

[ 103 ] 



THE HORSE THIEF 
Canyon and desert and mesa withered below, with the 
world. 
And then I knew that mustang; for I — ^was Bellero- 
phon! 

Yes, glad as the Greek, and mounted on a horse of the 
elder gods, 
With never a magic bridle or a fountain-mirror nigh ! 
My chaps and spurs and holster must have looked it? 
What's the odds? 
I'd a leg over lightning and thunder, careering across 
the sky! 

And forever streaming before me, fanning my forehead 
cool. 
Flowed a mane of molten silver; and just before my 
thighs 
(As I gripped his velvet-muscled ribs, while I cursed 
myself for a fool). 
The steady pulse of those pinions — their wonderful 
fall and rise! 

The bandanna I bought in Bowie blew loose and 
whipped from my neck. 
My shirt was stuck to my shoulders and ribboning 
out behind. 
The stars were dancing, wheeling and glancing, dipping 
with smirk and beck. 
The clouds were flowing, dusking and glowing. We 
rode a roaring wind. 

[ 103 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
We soared through the silver starlight to knock at the 
planets' gates. 
New shimmering constellations came whirling into 
our ken. 
Red stars and green and golden swung out of the void 
that waits 
For man's great last adventure; the Signs took 
shape — and then 

I knew the lines of that Centaur the moment I saw him 
come! 
The musical box of the heavens all around us rolled 
to a tune 
That tinkled and chimed and trilled with silver sounds 
that struck you dumb. 
As if some archangel were grinding out the music of 
the moon. 

Melody-drunk on the Milky Way, as we swept and 
soared hilarious. 
Full in our pathway, sudden he stood — the Centaur 
of the Stars, 
Flashing from head and hoofs and breast! I knew him 
for Sagittarius. 
He reared, and bent and drew his bow. He crouched 
as a boxer spars. 

Flung back on his haunches, weird he loomed — then 
leapt — and the dim void lightened. 
Old White Wings shied and swerved aside, and fled 
from the splendor-shod. 

[ 104, ] 



THE HORSE THIEF 
Through a flashing welter of worlds we charged. I 
knew why my horse was frightened. 
He had two faces — a dog's and a man's — that Baby- 
lonian god! 

Also, he followed us real as fear. Ping! went an arrow 
past. 
My broncho buck- jumped, humping high. We 
plunged . . I guess that's all ! 
I lay on the purple canyon's lip, when I opened my 
eyes at last — 
Stiff and sore and my head like a drum, but I broke 
no bones in the fall. 

So you know — and now you may string me up. Such 
was the way you caught me. 
Thank you for letting me tell it straight, though you 
never could greatly care. 
For I took a horse that wasn't mine ! . . But there's one 
the heavens brought me. 
And I'll hang right happy, because I know he is 
waiting for me up there. 

From creamy muzzle to cannon-bone, by God, he's a 
peerless wonder! 
He is steel and velvet and furnace-fire, and death's 
supremest prize; 
And never again shall be roped on earth that neck that is 
"clothed with thunder" . . 
String me up, Dave ! Go dig my grave ! I rode Mm 
across the shies! 

[ 105 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 

From Tenderloin to Barbary Coast 
"Red" Leary made, and backed, his boast. 
From Jersey City to The Loop 
He reefed the leathers or used "the soup." 
Safe-cracker, dipper, climber, yegg, 
He was one thorough rotten egg 
The cops and flatties could not catch. 
Plain-clothes-men knew him for their match. 

The English bobbies failed to grapple 
With what he plotted in Whitechapel. 
Paris Apaches in their cellar 
Called him the French for "reg'lar feller," 
But footloose he must ever be. 
And so he wandered far and free. 
Marked on the Little Black Book's page 
By name and alias, deeds and age. 

He never "brassed up" on a dollar 

And seemed chimaerical to collar. 

Even bull-buster on occasion. 

When they had needed swift persuasion. 

Though he'd been mugged in youth, and measured, 

(A high distinction that he treasured !) 

His stretch in Stir should never be — 

"Sooner, Cell 99 !" swore he. 

[ 106 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
One summer, after lying low. 
He rather took a shine to go 
Abroad once more, and, with this notion, 
"Stowed" over the Atlantic Ocean. 
After adventures smooth as syrup 
He found himself afoot through "Yirrup" 
Glad as a lad; then, growing dreamier, 
Lost himself somewhere in Bohemia. 

Now in that kingdom there's a town 
Which no geographies have down. 
An old lost town, given to amazing 
Black art, and star- and crystal-gazing. 
A magic circle hems it round, 
(Perhaps that's why 'tis still unfound!) 
And still 'tis ruled the rumor tells us 
By those who once knew Paracelsus. 

"There be twelve houses in the skies," 

Say these graybeards, toothy-wise. 

Each wagging beard and fumbling globe 

Hid in his scorpion-spangled robe, 

"Twelve houses in the heavens that rise 

Wherethrough the Seven Planets move, — 

Venus that is the Queen of Love, 

Saturn, whose spinning rings wake whirring tunes, 

Uranus, circled with revolving moons, 

Neptune, three billion miles away 

From Earth's dim and dismal day, 

[ 107 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Banded Jupiter, red Mars, — 
Mercury, youngest of the stars. 
And we be those can shape from these 
Water and fire and air's triplicities, 
The balm of friends, the curse of enemies. 
Health, wealth, fortune or estate. 
Marriage, love, and mischief great. 
By orbs and intercepted signs. 
Aspects, degrees, and peregrines. 

"Six houses East, six houses West, 

And the ephemeris gives the rest. 

And hues there be, and gems, and functions 

Of each great star in its conjunctions 

On the glittering stellar track 

With symbols of the Zodiac 

Where Lion or Ram or Goat appear 

Or Crab or Archer rise anear. 

All as the months make up the year. 

Last — ^there's a Golden Man on high. 

Stretched on the starscape of the sky. 

The first house hath his face, the second 

The ruler of his neck is reckoned. 

The third hath shoulders, arms, and hands, — 

Each of the others some part commands. 

The tenth rules downward from his thighs. 

Eleventh to where his ankles rise. 

And the twelfth completes his span 

At the feet of the Golden Man !" 

[ 108] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Such was their lore, with volumes more, 
As who — and why — was king-to-be, 
Beggar or tyrant, drunkard, dreamer. 
Philosopher or busy schemer. 
Hermit or sailor on the sea. 
By the stars they knew it well. 
And so each graybeard swung his bell, 
"Fortunes to tell ! Fortunes to tell !" 

And then with them there came to dwell 

Our very modern son of fury 

Who laughed at law and judge and jury. 

Ragged, and roving with his grudge. 

One violet evening, through a haze 

Of golden dust, they saw him trudge 

Up on their ancient cobbled ways. 

"Say! Pipe dis burg!" they heard him mutter. 

As he sat down above a gutter. 

They marked him, keen to tell his fortune. 

Rustling they gathered to importune 

His leave to cast a horoscope 

And read i' the stars the gibbet-rope 

That dangled for him. "Hunh?" he said. 

He scanned them well. He shook his head. ' 

"De whole push beats it! See?" he said. 

They saw. They gabbled off to bed. 
[ 109 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
In the astrologers' old town 
The roofs peaked up, the moon blazed down. 
A shop-sign creaked, a hinge made plaint. 
The shadows lay like purple paint. 
All were long abed and snoring. 
Save in the gutter, rags aflutter, 
"Red" Leary raised his eyes, imploring 
The moon some oracle to utter. 
He heard the whine and clap of a shutter 
Unfastened — ^but he heard the din 
That noisy noses made within. 

He shook his fist. For he had robbed 

A king's palace, a thieves' kitchen, — 

Been postered, trailed, and almost jobbed, — 

House-climbed, house-broke, been starved — and rich — ^in 

A hundred cities. So now he sobbed 

To think that here he sat this ditch in 

Simply flat bored by plate or purse. 

Grievously he began to curse. 

"Front Office nor de Eyes can't catch me. 

Aint no new steer me bean kin hatch me. 

Me, wot's de icin' on de cake, 

Bawlin' 'sif me heart 'd break ! 

Got dem all buffaloed wit' each new string 

O' dope, — aint no hand-painted shoestring 

At dat! But O, dis enny-wee! 

O me aunt's cat, — O dearie me. 

It's fierce !" He fumbled in his rags 

Producing two fat-stomached bags. 

[ 110] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
He pulled their strings and let them litter 
The muddy gutter with chinking glitter. 
"All kinds o' coin !" he said^ and sighed. 
"What's-it^ when I hev lost me pride.'' 
HuUy-chee, fer a job ter do!" 
"Yoo-hoo!" he yawned. "A-yay-yoo-hoo !" 

So it began 

That the Golden Man 

Glimmered out of the heavens on him. 

Sudden as flame 

The vision came 

And all the sky around was dim. 

In outline huge 

Past subterfuge 

He saw those massive limbs that span 

All stellar roads. 

And the twelve abodes 

From forehead to feet of the Golden Man. 

Have you ever traced the Greater Bear 

Or Orion with his Belt, up there? 

This shimmering shape 

On the vast starscape 

Shone clearer far through that dazzled air. 

The thief was aware it bristled his hair. 

Softly it faded. There alone, 

Lit like a star. 

With doors ajar, 

Atwinkle the Twelve High Houses shone! 

[ 111 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Atwinkle one instant. They faded too. 
His hot stare drew through a gulf of blue. 
Loud in his brain the rumbling grew 
Of some momentous event that neared. 
The Seven Candlesticks of lights 
Those wandering fires of heaven, shone bright. 
Phalanx on phalanx filled the height 
With stars accoutred and silver-speared. 

Till, as though (as the ancient spells require!) 
He had cast in a greenish sea-coal fire 
The herb centaury, — filled with desire 
To see all the stars ride atilt on high, — 
They trembled and seemed to begin a tourney 
Madly, and he a momentous journey. 
Tick of the instant — no time to mourn! — he 
Suddenly rose through the Eastern sky. 

Up, up, up from the roofs and steeples. 
Astrologers and snoring peoples. 
He rose like a planet, yes, seemed to sweep else- 
where with a comet's fizzling trail. 
On the Eastern horizon then, aglimmer. 
He stretched his arms like a diving swimmer, — 
Gasping, plunged, and grew much dimmer, — 
In fact in a flick he was past all hail ! 

Where did he get to ? Well, what he thought it 
Was, was a downhill street. God wrought it 
Of clouds like cobblestones. Unbesought, it 

[ 112 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Gleamed underfoot. He was feeling great ! 
All night was before him. His "drag" and "buster" 
Would set him to rights as a claim- adjuster 
With — see those Houses.'' "Them parties muster 
Been hittin' de hay since ha' pass eight !". 

"So-o, easy does it! I got me creepers, 

An' dem in dere's like de Seven Sleepers. 

Bet dere's plate an' stuff ter bug yer peepers !" 

He eyed the twelve abodes in a row 

Adown their long foggy road defiling. 

Then pushed up a sash — at its creak reviling — 

And — that was the last of his easy smiling. 

Let me make it clear why this was so: 

Heaven's orb, they say, has four divisions. 
Four quadrants, each strict as a mathematician's. 
Marked out by astrologer precisians 
From where overhead in a perfect arc 
Th' Prime Vertical their code supposes 
Encircles space. Each quadrant shows us 
Three subdivisions. Thus Night incloses 
Our world in diagrammed Delphic dark. 

And, horizon to nadir, (while Man has slumbered) 
From the East, under Earth, these skies they've num- 
bered 
To the West, to the zenith. Not houses cumbered 
With walls and windows — ^but still a span 
Of symbolic "houses," for sun and moon 

[ 113] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
And the constellations, late or soon. 
To traverse majestical, night and noon, 
From meridian to meridian. 

Was the star-men's spell upon their guest 

Who had scorned them so lately? His new house-quest 

Really circled the sky from East to West, 

For the window he'd pried to those first strange halls 

Was the "cusp" to the house of the Ram's bright sign, 

Hot and luxurious, fumed with wine, 

Where a hangdog Saturn sate to dine 

Satellite-crowned against crimson walls ! 

And, "Copped out!" yelped our thief, in this hall of fire 
Lit by ruddy Mars' own wrathful ire. 
"Red" whirled for an exit, found his desire. 
And pelted therefrom in mad career. 
But only into — the House of Taurus 
Succedent, — and there heard a bellowed chorus 
From Mars and Jupiter: "Bring before us — 
Hey, boy! Bring white Queen Venus here!" 

So thence through Mercury's home diurnal 
He fled on the wings of a fate infernal. 
Where the Twins of Gemini seemed to burn, all 
Silver, on hot aerial blue, — 
Till Nethermost Heaven, of Cancer's ruling, 
Surrounded him next with watery, cooling. 
Glimmering halls, — pale moonlight pooling 
Floors and dais with pearlbright dew. 

[ 114 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
And from this Fifth House, most eerily yelling. 
He soared through the "Part of Fortune's" dwelling, 
(That astrological symbol, telling 
Of money, property, gain or loss,) 
Leo's house, in the West's ascendant angle 
Where the Sun, his beard in a golden tangle. 
Watched Venus in Libra softly wrangle 
With Mercury, playing at pitch and toss. 

He caught their expressions, — that gleaming flagon 

Sol tilted up, — and the Tail of the Dragon 

Curled through the door, — yet could not lag on 

His wild house-breaking. . . Through silken suites 

Sacred to Venus — and overheated! — 

He flip-flopped then, while his brain repeated 

"Watch yer step!" — as. Subway-seated, 

He remembered the guards call the different streets. 

Then the darkness hissed. Cold, damp, nocturnal 
Was Scorpio's home, and deceits infernal 
Crawled on its walls; and there eternal 
The shield of Mars hung in ruddy rust, 
Norsemen and pirates ruling of olden. . . 
Then the Archer's abode of Jove rose golden. 
The thief flashed through it, — ^no longer bold, — in 
A cyclone of kicked-up stellar dust. 

Next two cold Houses, where, white beard flashing, 
Capricornus the Goat met his eyes, abashing 
Leary, who sprawled and came down crashing 

[ 115] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Through Saturn's best mirror — and dodged away 
With a leap through the sash of one window dimmer 
With violet light. . . White^ white and aglimmer 
There the Moon's throne rose. Through pale green 

shimmer 
Aquarius swam like a fish at play. 

So on to the Twelfth, and the Cadent, dwelling 

Of finny Pisces, madly pellmelling 

Our burglar plunged. There remains for telling 

Only the Head of the Dragon there. 

Which yawned at him wide — white teeth like planets. 

I do not believe a giant could span its 

Jaws, dripping sunsets. A grin, it ran its 

Tongue of black midnight around its lair. 

Yet now, on completing this sky-rotation. 

Strangely Leary shook with vexation — 

Or was it terror ? An alteration 

Was plain in lax mouth and bulging eye. 

And — ^what was that, that ominous roaring.'' 

He dove down the Eastern sky, imploring 

The gods for rescue. . . But down came pouring 

Behind him, all heaven in hue and cry ! 

"Stop thief!" they shouted. With vestments surging 
And hair astream, leapt Virgo the Virgin 
Waving the Scales, the weird chase urging. 
Followed by Scorpio, Capricorn, 
Sagittarius and Aquarius, 

[ 116 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
The Ram^ Bull, Crab, and both hilarious 
Gemini — each with weapons various. 
Fishnet or quiver, claw or horn. 

And then, the Planets ! 

Ah well. 
Of course he fell 

Sheer through the chimneypots, flop to the moonlit street. 
But what he said I think I shall not tell. 
His language was too luscious to repeat. 
However, from where he listened through his shuttered 
Window, the Chief Star-Gazer giggled, muttered 
In crafty bliss, and scraped each parchment hand 
Over the other. 

"He'll never understand 
It was not moonlight madness, dreams, or heat 
Evolved that dark adventure in defeat. 
They say, 'Revenge is sweet.' 
Certes, it is ! He made a bad beginning 
With us, so soothly I have sent him spinning 
This night the circuit of an old chart of birth 
Portioned to rascals — showing Heaven and Earth — !" 

The Voice died out again, quite silver-toned. 

Down in the gutter Great Leary stirred and groaned. 



[ 117 ] 



ALEXANDER, THE CRAP KING 

Anyone dat hones 
Fo' a tas'e uh Heaven, 
A lil tas'e uh Heaven, 
Watch me roU-a de bones, 
(Come seben, come leben!) 
Watch me roU-a de bones ! 

Guess I'se bad! Dat so? 

Dat so, sho nuff ? 

Ah call you-all's bluff! 

(Dat's de stuff, dat's de stuff!) 

Lak a houn'-dawg take 'm, 

Wharsoare de flea be, 

Yo j es watch me break 'm ! 

Speak to muh, Phoebe! 

Ee-yah-yah ! An' out de back do' ! 

Eight, dat's mah p'int ; ah sho' is po' ! 

Say, anyone dat hones 

(Natchul fo'm, bones!) 

Roll me jes a few, 

( Yassuh, you too !) 

Jine mah rebel 

(Oo! Up jump de debbil!) 

In a r'ally rollin', 

In a riley rolling'. 

In a rolly-roUin' 

De bo-ones! 

[ 118] 



ALEXANDER, THE CRAP KING 
Down on de lebbee, sunset soon^ 
Co'n-pone en chick-en, en de risin' moon ! 
Heah de Yankees talk : Noo Yawk, Noo Yawk ! 
(Not a smile en de city all de miles yo' gotta walk, 
No mo' possum, no mo' pones !) 
All ah got is de bones, 
All ah got is de bones, — 
So ef anybody hones 

Fo' ter roll me jes' er lil, ah kin mek 'm sick. 
(Get his bill. Big Dick!) 
Ya-as, wid deseyeah lil' stones 
Ah kin skin 'm putty slick. 
(On de re-boun', bones !) 

Nine's mah p'int — ninety days de jedge gave 'm. 
An' a fo' — an' a five — out de calaboose ter save 'm, 
(Got de baabeh's itch, so de baabeh couldn' shave 'm!) 
In a r'ally roUin' de bones. 

Hebben's mah desiah, an' de Glohry street. 

Youall'll heah de pattah ob de angels' feet, 

Jes' like Hell done cotch afiah, — 

Ya-as, an' you'll yell Whassamattah .f* 

But befo' de sky-cops scattah 

All de folks aroun' 'm 

An' de cop commandah yell "Pinch 'm an' impoun' 'm!" 

Why, you'll know it's Alexanddh, 

An' be glad you foun' 'm ! 

Ah'U be roUin' de bones, 

Ah'U be roUin' de bones, 

Ah'U be tossin' 'm de fus' time on de glohry stones. 

[ 119] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 

(Six — it — stays ! 

Flock o' trays, flock o' trays!) 

Ah'U be roUin' 'm fer hyahps an' fer deseyeah rings 

Wot dey weahs roun' dey haid, deseyeah roreyoley 

things. 
(Nebbah on de money — an' leben fus' time!) 
De spots all knows me. Dah goes yo' dime! 
Ya-ah, de luck'U nebbah lose me; 
See de seben ray fuse me! 
Come a runnin', Mistah Richud, — 
Sho! It sutt'nly am a crime 
When ah's r'ally roUin', when ah's riley-roUin', when 

ah's roUy-rollin' 
De bo-ones ! 

Lashins er graby, an' a chick-en j'int, — 

But lil', lil' Phoebe's mah faveright p'int! 

Nebbah had a wife, 

Lazy all mah life. 

Ah kin play de fiddle, ah kin play de fife. 

Ah kin jump Jim Crow, ah kin shuck an' hoe, — 

Knows all de conjuhs wot de voodoos know, — 

But mos'v all ah hones 

To be roUin' de bones, — 

To be r'ally rollin' 

(Whassat.^ Ah's bleedge ter stop.f") 

To be riley rollin' 

(Matchyuh, Mistah Cop!) 

To be roley-oley-oley-oley-oley-oley-olin'. 

To be rolly-rollin' de bones. . . 

Dah's so! 

[ 120 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 

1809 

"This summer day is well-nigh over!" 

Grated the corncrake in the clover. 

And the messenger's mare, whose neck nid-nodded. 

On the hot white road half-drowsing plodded. 

"Oh for a vintner's bush and sign, 

A long churchwarden, a stoup of wine !" 

Mused the man who blinked through dusty lashes, 

With dust on his beard and his brown mustaches, 

Dust on his hat with its Quaker cock. 

Dust on his neckcloth, an ill-creased stock. 

Dust from his cloak to his boots, white dust 

Coating him quite, like a cake's thin crust. 

He had made haste, a haste unmanning. 
On a mission of Mr. Canning's plaiming; 
And the sloop awaited him, under Dover, 
'Spite of Bonaparte to sneak him over 
To Walcheren. Ah, hut that fragrant clover! 

Nodded the thistle and shimmered the corn, 
And all was as still as a sabbath morn 
At half-past four of that afternoon. 
Deep-tranced hedge-birds essayed no tune. 
"Oh for an alehouse!" he quavered. "Soon!" 

[ 121 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
And an alehouse rose, as they sometimes will. 
Over the brow of a little hill. 

Where a chequer-board hung with device well-drawn 
Asserting "The Sign of the Seventh Pawn." 
A whimsical sign, and that is flat, — 
But all signs are queer, for the matter of that. 
So our man dismounted and knocked rat-tat 
At the green half-door, and he doffed his hat 
To a crisp little wisp of a curtseying dame 
Who bade him enter ; so in he came ! 

I wonder if you have ever seen 
Flaxman's chessmen; the king, the queen. 
The knight, the bishop, and all the rest 
Carved so quaintly, so quaintly dressed? 
What called them to mind was that alehouse room 
With its settles and pewter and rose-leaf gloom 
And its deep-carved tables. It doesn't matter 
If you don't play chess — but all of the latter 
Were with chessmen set like the hosts of Aurelian, 
Chessmen of red and of white carnelian. 
Chessmen of ivory, ebony. 
And shining boxwood — a sight to see ! 
For every piece, whether pawn or rook. 
Was carved so it could not be mistook. 
Fashioned in character, almost breathing, 
'Neath the herb-hung rafters, where blue smoke wreath- 
ing 
Told of a pipe smoked not far distant ; 
And then, to the little dame's chirp insistent, 

[ 123 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
Came bowing out from behind the bar 
The strangest "Mine Host" found near or far. 

His peas-cod bellied doublet seemed 

Of a satin some draper must have dreamed. 

His peach-colored stockings and stuffed trunk-hose 

Deeply slashed and embroidered with pearls in rows, 

His Catanian nostril and proud though still lip 

Took one back to the time of weak King Philip 

Or thereabout in Iberian history. 

His bronze-carved profile increased the mystery! 

Tobacco he smoked, and between each puff 

Of his long churchwarden the man took snuff 

From a silver snuff-box enchased with griffins 

That grimaced oddly to ape his sniffin's. 

(Perhaps that was purely imagination; 

But our hero saw it with perturbation !) 

Soon enough, over wine of a golden color 
To thrill even reformers whose sense is duller. 
In such weighty matters, than dull gray lead, — 
When cooled with this draught, and divinely fed 
On a cream-tart of strawberries richly red, — 
This mysterious host to the messenger said 
In English quite pat but inflected droUy, 
"You must play me a game, by all that's holy !" 
(Invoking the spirit of Dacciesole 
Who, as you know, a Dominican friar. 
Wrote us first on chess — or call Caxton liar!) 
"'Tis the game of all games that quaintest is, 

[ 123 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
By the boudoir of Queen Semiramis ! 
Quaintest and chastest, and played they say 
By Louis le Gros, and by Rabelais 
When he delved in Galen at Montpellier; 
Played in court and in camp by Charlemagne, 
Saladin, Bajazet, and Tamburlaine, 
An imperial motley how rich and rare ! 
Wife, set us a board!" And the board was there. 
Pieces were chosen with special care. 
And the upshot was that the two began 
The mightiest game yet known to man. 

The messenger, studying knight and king, 

Could not but marvel at such a thing. 

How each was carved in such human guise 

That you almost expected them — small surprise! — 

To shrug their shoulders or roll their eyes. 

The mitred bishops with croziers borne. 

The knights with mace upon saddle-horn. 

The queens with tiaras and netted hair. 

The castles with ramparts and winding stair ! 

Then he offered a pawn. His hope waxed stronger 

Soon — and the candle-snuffs waxed longer; 

And outside the alehouse his white mare dreamed 

By the close-cropped grass, while a pale moon gleamed. 

For sunset came and went like flame. 

Night closed in on the silent game; 

And the hostess hied her to bedside prayers 

Leaving glimmering tapers to light the players. 

[ 124 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
A struggle; and then the Spaniard won. 
"But allow me to show you how it is done ! 
Here is, for an instance, the Devil's Counter!" 
He cried, "The Queen's worth the whole amount. Her 
Move is a lion disguised as a lamb. It 
Is plotted by Queen's Pawn Counter-Gambit; 
But first — Pawn to King's Fourth!" He moved the 

piece. 
And weirdly — would wonders never cease! — 
In five more moves, we need not state. 
Achieved another swift check-mate. , 

Then back he leaned, and his pointed beard 

Lifted aloft as he kindly leered. 

The nonplussed messenger scratched his head. 

"You are a foreigner, sir," he said. 

"Long have I loved the ranks and files 

And have sometimes pondered this game for miles 

On my travels — but never, o'er wine and victual. 

Have I seen so much, — aye, and learned so little. 

Why you have chosen to masquerade 

In clothes of an antique cut and shade, — 

Your quaintness too easily mistook 

For a figure stepped from a story-book 

Whose colored pictures thrill happy children, — 

I don't understand. It is all bewild'ring. 

And I have passed on this road before 

Never perceiving this alehouse door. 

And, by all the gods, I freely confess 

I have never seen such a game of chess ! 

[ 125 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Where did you learn it ? Near or far, you 
Could best them all. Why, good Lord, who are you? 
Rare old Ruy Lopez himself would gasp 
At your 'Devil's Gambit' ! Your hand to clasp !" 

The Spaniard extended thin sinewy fingers. 

And about his lips such a smile as lingers 

On the summer sea when it swoons with dawn 

Played for a moment. "Dear sir, a pawn 

Of fortune," he murmured, "The Seventh Pawn!" 

"Eh ?" said the other. "Such mystery blinks 

Under the eyelids of the Sphinx, 

And far more befitting there to awe 

The pilgrim who stands on her great stone paw — 

But from Oedipus, with all due apology, 

I cannot reckon my genealogy. 

Pray explain your allusion!" The Spaniard, "Why, 

Since you press me so closely, I shall try ! 

Chess is a life-game, life a chess-game, 

A strategic duello, a plan-and-guess game. 

Are we but pawns? Or with every move 

Betray we the knight's or the bishop's groove? 

As for applications — the bishops there 

Never leaving the color of their square — 

They might symbolize Faith, how religion strives 

Straight on, crossed by currents of all our lives. 

Do you see what I drive at? Simply at first 

I revolved such thoughts, and then there burst 

A light on me, in my youth, at last. 

[ 126 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
Why, this chess is rooted as far in the past 
As Egypt. Greeks, Romans, Hindoos, Chinese, 
Have played their variants, if you please; 
And the game takes hold of the roots of wars, — 
Yes, leaps thence to the secrets of the stars. 
And thence . . my young eyes bulged from my head 
In Salamanca when first I read 
A seer's words that lightened its penetralia ! 
Your humor rises ? Your doubts assail you ? 
Yet I tell you truly it is the key 
To the chart of God, to the mystery 
Of Heaven and Hell ! Its every plan 
Explains a purpose and use of man. 
And sudden the whole articulate scheme 
Blazed through my brain!" 

In dizzy dream 
The other stared, while the Spaniard wove 
A web of words his listener strove 
But feebly to break. It caught in mesh 
Every riddle of spirit and flesh. 
Wandered, meandered, and interwound 
Through metaphysics, o'erleaped the bound 
Of philosophy, transcended symbol. 
Yet regained the clue — ^lost worse than a thimble 
In the proverbial haystack — swept 
Through mysteries like some fiend adept. 
Hung on a metaphor, leaped the abysm 
And galloped off on a syllogism. 
Returned on the wings of an epigram. 
And grew in mad skill till star-swarms swam 

[ 13T ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 

Through the messenger's bewildered wit 
As he gaped and goggled opposite. 

"Know more/' his swarthy host continued. 

Grasping his wrist in a clutch steel-sinewed. 

"Little elixir have I needed 

With Albertus Magnus, to find what he did. 

Nor Trismosius' Magisterium 

To a longer life! I have struck them dumb. 

All the alchemists and the spells they cast. 

All the spirits that hover about the Vast. 

For my knowledge quickly enabled me 

To cheat Hell, with Heaven, eternally!" 

And the other stared on as the Spaniard cried, 

"Yes, I live, I live — I have never died! 

"Your day is appointed — and mine — ^but I 

Saw too many moves ahead to die. 

Every beat of the pulse, every tick of the clock 

Is a move — but intelligent keys unlock 

The solution. And I have discerned the whole! 

Does God's hand set forth for bliss or dole 

One more piece? Does the Devil's black claw show 

As he marshals another in his row.^ 

'Twixt both I have played the game as taught. 

Sudden as lightning, and swift as thought, — 

But now . . !" (And the lisping voice so near 

Sank so wearily, almost a tear 

Seemed to stand and gleam in the darkening eye!) 

"But now — ah, they will not let me die!" 

[ 138 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
The room was quite still for a gasping-space. 
And the other gazed into a haggard face. 

"They will not . . for once I became aware, 

I created a country in the air. 

My imagination took with a surge 

The potencies of a demiurge 

From that Perfect Knowledge . . and yet, the power 

To bring me sweet death at any hour 

Lies in the hands of the phantom queen 

Of that region no mortal man has seen. 

That is the loophole the Powers have left me 

Before their subtle revenge bereft me 

So suddenly of all my pride. 

But — they knew, they knew I should be denied ! 

For the queen I breathed into ghostly being. 

Why, hers is almost marvelous seeing. 

And she knows her realm, with my death, would be 

Naught — thinnest air — ^lost utterly. 

To the last pawn ! 

I plead and plead 
When I visit there, and my earth-days bleed 
Unheeded down before her crown. 
Ah God, my relentless years would drown 
A stone in tears ! You — ^you marked my dress. 
Then, how old do you think me ? Come, confess !" 

The blue smoke eddied, and through it swam 
That wax-pale face. 

"Dear Sir, I am," 

[ 139 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
The Spaniard grinned, with dry lips curled back, 
"A miracle, fleshly and cardiac!" 

That gleam of teeth such as a she-wolf suckles 

Made the other grip with whitened knuckles 

An edge of the heavy-carven table. 

He could only stammer, with brain unstable, 

"Ha, ha! That's good — good enough — dare swear! 

Excellent, excellent !" 

"Have a care!" 
And across the hidalgo's face a flare 
Of sudden malice like green flame blew. 
"Fool !" said the Iberian. "I'll prove it you !" 
Like a lean black cat with a rapier tail 
He lounged to the fire ; then flicked forth a veil 
Of spangled iridescent stuff. 
Full ten yards long, from beneath his ruff; 
Span it in his hands to a whirling maze 
Of fabric flying in rainbow blaze; 
And — "There !" he cried, as he let it fall 
On the licking flames, "goes Bathsheba's shawl !" 
"And here," he cried, as he drew from his leg 
A crystalline globe, "is a real Roc's egg!" 
Over his shoulder he tossed it lightly. 
Crackle-smash it fell. The fire so brightly 
Blazed on the instant, the other's eyes 
Went almost blind with his shocked surprise. 
But it seemed that one moment he saw arise 
From a golden core of streaming light 
A vast grotesque bird, with infinite 

[ 130 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
Spread of wing and a great hooked beak. 
"So ! So !" cried the Spaniard, and turned, to tweak 
From thin air a flask with a ruby glow, 
"Now I pOur the elixir of life — and — so !" 
Suddenly next to his very feet 
That other felt the floor rock and beat. 
Burst up like kindling, and reveal 
A proud-horsed knight, from head to heel 
One portentous dazzle of brilliant steel. 
This was white magic to behold. 
The charger tossed his crest of gold, 
'Neath purple and crimson caparison. 
Pawed, and his rider sate thereon 
With beaked visor pushed above his eyes 
Revealing a ruddy face and wise. 
Thick brown-bearded. Then sudden he 
Opened his lips, and thunderously 
Roared, "Caissa !" and shook his lance. 
Its rippling pennon with gold a glance; 
And then in a great voice; deep and strong 
Shook the rafters with this wild song: 

"I am Sir Lionel Perceforest, 
Uthyr Pendragon's bastard son. 
A wyvern azure is my crest. 
I win all kingdoms that are won. 
I leap to battle when crossbows hail 
Their quarrels that rattle on coats of mail. 
My broadsword whirls from East to West. 
I spur amain with lance in rest. 

[ 131 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Ho, Sane Greal, Sane Greal, Sane Greal! 
My sword is mighty. It shall prevail ! 

"Say Theseus had a woman's wrist, 
Call Alexander a fool foredone, 
Dub Lord ^Eneas what things ye list, — 
I win all kingdoms that are won ! 
I ride the forest in moonlight white. 
Soul, that abhorrest the nets of night, 
In thy adventure when woods are whist 
I spur amain through leprous mist. 
Ho, Sane Greal, Sane Greal, Sane Greal! 
My sword is valiant. It shall prevail ! 

"Deep in the dragon darkness quail 
Chimaeras like Bellerophon's. 
The starlight strikes each gleaming scale 
To peacock colors and flashing bronze. 
Through thickets I thrust to front the cave. 
Beasts bite the dust before my glaive. 
My sword is terrible to prevail. 
Ho, Sane Greal, Sane Greal, Sane Greal! 
Christ on the Rood and Mary Pale, 
Hell for the Paynim, and hail the Grail !" 

With that the chimney seemed to choke 

And the room was filled with a waft of smoke 

Cloudier and bluer than indeed 

Had eddied ere this from Virginian weed. 

Through its swirls the messenger half-perceived 

[ 133 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
Other clashing knights, cuirassed and greaved. 
Mane and tail of other chargers bold 
Interplaited with threads of gold. 
And the glitter of spiked steel o'er all 
From gleaming chanfrain and bright poictral. 

How in Heaven's name could that small inn-room 

Inclose such hordes as its guest saw loom 

For a moment, to charge the chimney-breast 

With pennon fluttering, lance in rest. 

And leap with the shower of sparks they smote 

Sudden-sucked up the draught of the chimney-throat? 

What airy bugle thrilled wildly winding? . . 

The floor was a furnace, the smoke was blinding! 

With one arm flung over his smarting eyes 

The reeling messenger tried to rise. 

Then a strong arm steadied his deadly fear. 

The Spaniard's voice was in his ear: 

"Leap !" And he leapt through shrivelling flame 

To a void of darkness, lost breath, and came 

To his senses again and opened his eyes 

On a tempest of stars and tossing skies 

Through which he bored with a rocket's flight 

While planets poured past to the pit of night. 

Upward — ^upward! He cried aghast 

As the deeps of heaven bombarded past. 

Upward — ^upward — and still he knew 

By his side that the Spaniard was flying too. 

His lids squeezed tight, as he whirled and hurdled 

And somersaulted. His blanched blood curdled. 

[ 133 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
One last fearful hurl, when his doom seemed sealed. 
And head- foremost he slid through a soft green field! 

Harsh as a file his first breath rasped back, 

Each limb felt as limp as an empty sack. 

His head was a tight-stretched resonant drum. 

And then that same merciless voice said "Come !" — 

And, with throat tight-gagged in hammering fright. 

He opened his eyes on — ^life and light! 

Who shall describe those thick-flowered meads 

Where knights curvetted on their prancing steeds. 

Where silken damask pavilions lay 

Crowned with their arms and ribboned gay? 

Heralds in vivid coats were seen 

Strutting proudly across the green; 

Squires with cushioned helms or glaives 

And men-at-arms with fair white staves. 

All blazed and bustled as if the intent 

Were this day for a royal tournament. 

Pages ran, great chargers reared to ramp. 

One bee-hive hum filled the whole great camp. 

And inexorably before our friend 

Whisked in such strange wise through the whole world's 

end 
To this chivalric and antic heaven. 
The Spaniard stood. The numeral Seven 
Blazed from front and back of a tabard sheathing 
His peacock pride ! The messenger's breathing 
Came slower and softer. A grinning serf 

[ 13*1 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
Beckoned them over the soft rich turf. 
They followed. 

As the tents drew near 
The bright sun glittered on many a spear. 
One squire in a silver basin splashed 
And through dripping beard laughed unabashed. 
Down the tent-lane tramped with a great to-do 
Two kettle-drummers in crimson and blue. 
And a pompous herald met the beholders, 
A parchment fluttering from his shoulders 
On which, inscribed in black-letter script 
With capitals flaming from quills well-dipped 
In crimson, a speech ran on this wise: 

"Hear ye, hear ye what doth devise 

Our sovereign, supreme, and glorious queen 

Caissa Celestia ! Be it seen 

That all her subjects throng to her banner 

From every place and in every manner 

Since the cruel Chinese potentate 

Chaturanga is at our gate 

With ships and elephants roundly cursed 

By our brave Scaccophilus the First, 

King of Arch-chequerboard — orchard and vine, 

Valley and mountain, thy land and mine! 

Hear ye, hear ye ! For our fair queen 

Let us chase and deliver our strokes with dene 

For today, as our annual tournament 

Was blithely preparing in many a tent. 

Came couriers breathless and faint with fear 

[ 135 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Who cried, 'The Mongolian host draws near 
Mixed with the Persians, — on gilded gongs 
Clanging and banging, in silk-robed throngs 
And armor of steel and bronze and gold, 
A terrible army to behold!' . . 
Japan's small fighters in masks agrin 
And horned headdresses redouble the din 
With short and long swords clashing and rattling, 
Bows and arrows tossed, horse and foot embattling 
In lacquer that envy of every bonze stirs 
Pictured with dragons and birds and monsters ; 
And their daimyos' litters with jewels aglitter — 
Four milk-white mules to every litter 
With head-harness ringing a thousand bells 
And housings scarlet and gold, or else 
Purple and silver, direct the throng! 
White and grey elephants shamble along 
With great painted howdahs wherein Fong-lee, 
Yoo-fow, and such princes of high degree 
Ply their chop-sticks and drink their tea 
While almond-eyed girls touch the tinkling lute 
And the bright hues blaze from each silken suit 
And the coiled black queues entangle the sky. 
And each squatting celestial is fain to ply 
Bright curious fans, such as wizards chase. 
Their ivory sticks carved fine as lace. 
Their rich silk spread embroidered with 
Wonderful legend and marvelous myth! 
So with shoguns, mikados, and tramping battalions ; 
Elephants, camels, and zebra-stallions, 

[ 136 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
With match-lock and pole-axe, o'er mountain and valley 
Chaturanga approaches ! . . Ho, knights, to the rally ! 
Rally, rally ! Forth we must sally 
To meet the foe in yon chequered valley 
Whereon we have ever stood, and smitten. 
And won for Caissa — as it is written!" 

The herald stood striking an attitude 
Till the messenger read the last word. 

Ensued 
More sights of the camp. Before one tent 
A huge smith over a bellows bent. 
Fanning a forge. His big broad back 
Was turned, but his habit showed a black 
Numeral Two. 

They stood apart. 
The Spaniard explaining, "You see, his art 
Is fashioning saddle, bridle, and spur 
For his knight. And does it not yet occur 
To you that these numbers denominate us 
Our Queen's eight pawns ? To leap the hiatus 
Back to plain life, 'tis in Chaucer you'll find 
The supposed resemblance of every kind 
Of piece to the mortal whom it suits. 
So all of us have our attributes. 
I am the Courier. And today. 
If a last hope fail me, I'll try a way . . !" 
He recovered his smile. "But come, confess 
How like you my phantast's Land of Chess.''" 

[ 137 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
Theiij waiting no answer, with quicker pace 
He led round a pavilion. The other's face 
Worked with dumb questions. But when they stopped 
Once clear of the camp, his jaw down-dropped. 
For into his eyes swam the larger view. 
Mountains ringed them, mountains of blue. 
Or were they mountains or moving cloud? 
However, beneath them stretched a proud 
Sweep of river and plain, like a dazzling shield; 
Aye, beneath them indeed ! For here the field 
Dropped sheer from a rock-ridge, a rock-ridge crowned 
With a castle whose ramparts might well astound. 
A wide fosse lay deep round its plainward plan 
Over which a great chained drawbridge ran. 
It crouched upon the beetling crag 
Turreted high like an antlered stag. 
Its keep rose clear, its outer wall 
Beyond the base-court began the fall 
Of the cliff face. It inclosed enisled 
Magnificent castellations, piled 
With turrets (O pledge of knightly farings !) 
Emblazoned with rich armorial bearings. 
Within rose din. Above flew forth 
Long twining pennants to west and north. 
They crossed the bridge. They climbed the deep 
Steep steps within the round-tower keep. 
Entered a doorway whose great arch shone 
With a horse-head carved on its transom-stone. 
And — were led to the stair by the Seneschal. 

[ 138 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
Right through the thickness of the wall 
That dark stair rose, ignoring doors 
With glimpses of the different floors — 
Ladies with framed embroidery. 
Curled pages bending silken knee, 
Great stone chimneys, oak panellings. 
Dark tall portraits of queens and kings. 

They came to the summit of the tower. 

A sight to sap an Emperor's power 
With majesty! Tree over tree 
The forest clomb under them thunderously 
To lap at the base of their barbican. 
Whence, winding down, a great causey ran 
Lost in the wood below. But — strange 1 — 
The mapped fields beneath took on a change. 
As far they spread their pattern appeared 
A giant chequer-board, spaced and cleared. 
From wood to mountaia (or cloud) that far 
On the horizon . . showed glints of war 
Even now approaching ! Yes ! For the tall 
Eighth Pawn — who else but the Seneschal! — 
Now pointed and shook his keys at the foe. 
"That is his army moving below, — 
Chaturanga's Mongolian evil. 
Friends of the fiends and spawn of the Devil ! 
Look you, they hold nine files instead 
Of eight — and how are their pieces spread? 
Along lines, not squares, — and placed for guile 

[ 1S9 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
At the intersections o£ rank and file! 
Bah! And they keep an open space 
Between fifth and sixth ranks from either base; 
The River^ they call it ! . . Yet they may 
Bid their Cannon thunder their worst today 
And their Councillors plot, for — by my Ferse! — 
This rabble of idolaters. 
Dogs of unbelievers, paynims confessed. 
Shall by our Caissa be clean outchessed !" 

Such spleen mazed the messenger. Down they ran 
And across a courtyard. The puzzled man 
Groped in the words of that stern ofiicial 
Still wondering what was so prejudicial 
In the foe that came — only catching glints 
Of all these matters, and sidewise hints. 

And now, in the great main hall and court. 

What bustle there was ! Of every sort 

Was the armor that clanked and clattered and blazed. 

Lance and sword of the horsemen grazed 

Poleaxe and estoc of footmen fleet 

Cap-a-pie from heads to feet. 

Some with pavises, some with targes. 

Some with morning-stars (whose stroke enlarges 

The range of brains), — with morion 

Cuirasse, heaume, and habergeon. 

Pike, spontoon, bascinet, and partizan, 

(That one for sport hurled over a bartizan) 

Halbert, gisarm, every manner 

[ 140 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
Of metal that ever danced to a banner 
Or fabric that ever upholstered metal 
Or leather or wood — in splendid fettle 
The men-at-arms milled in the great stone hall 
Before a dais, imposing on all 
Reverence perforce. The stranger knew 
There stood Caissa the Queen on view. 
And then he saw. She shone fuU-stoled 
With ermine, gowned in cloth of gold. 
One instant he had to visualize her 
Through the throng. The Bishop, her adviser. 
Though more like a judge of many pleas 
With a great tome open upon his knees. 
Sat at her right — on her left another 
Legal potentate, this Bishop's brother. 
"One reads criminal, one the civil law !" 
The Spaniard whispered. The traveller saw 
Next, as the throng a little shifted. 
Headdresses passed, and nearer he drifted, — 
He saw the King. But the dark Queen kept her 
Hawk eyes fixed on his golden sceptre. 
And, in purple robes, he shook as with cold. 
The golden apple twitched in the hold 
Of his trembling fingers. Before his face 
Stood to defend him with sword and mace. 
In helm and hauberk, two knights of the throne. 
One the proud Queen's and one his own. 
And now, through the crowd, to a murmur of "Look, 
Hither they move ! Yes, yon's a Rook." 
Two figures advanced as legates should, 

[ 141 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
With staff and mantle and minever hood. 
And passed in close converse. A glimpse of the throne 
Again, and our friend saw the Queen alone 
But the Spaniard approaching. He plead. She said: 
(The messenger caught the words) "What? Dead? 
Why, if dead . . ! No, no! For the last time. No! 
Who created Us ? Fool ! We shall keep it so !" 
Off his host rushed cursing. 

And then, afar. 
Some trumpet blew shrill points of war; 
And out to the courtyard, out to the causey 
All swept. Without a single pause he — 
The messenger — ran, great bound on bound. 
While horse-hoofs struck sparks from all around 
In deafening din; and other racing 
Men-at-arms and maids made such a chasing 
With varlets and Pawns (for such they must be) 
Naught could, because of the haste and the dust, be 
Well discerned, — but only neighing 
And puffing and shouting and jolting and swaying 
And hurling and laughing and clashing and praying. 

He ran in the mob, and could not fall 

Since the speed and the weight of the mass held all 

Closely erect; he ran until 

All life seemed an avalanche down a hill 

With banners tossing and trumpets tooting, — 

And then — in the flick of an eye — went shooting 

Through trees that darkly and vaguely reared 

Out on the plain, where a space was cleared. 

[ 142 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
All scattered and swarmed toward different places. 
He followed the crowd and watched their faces. 
Where was the Spaniard? But, to a cry 
"The Army I", eight marching Pawns came by. 
Upon their flag a device you guess : 
"We are the very soul of Chess !" 
There was the smith they had seen ere this, 
And Number One, who a woodsman is 
With hatchet in girdle; and close in tread, 
With a great quill pen upraised instead 
Of a lance, came Number Three, the Clerk, 
With inkhorn swung and damp hair dark. 
Four? Four shook a pair of scales; for shield he 
Wagged before him a large unwieldy 
Bolt of cloth — a Merchant verily ! 
And Five, with a razor trod right merrily — 
Spicer, apothecary, surgeon. 
And then, as solemn as a sturgeon 
Stepped Six, the Tavemer, tankard-jangling; 
And last, the Spaniard, strangely wrangling 
Now with the Seneschal. In one hand 
The former bore a packet planned 
For courier-delivery. 
The Seneschal wielded a big brass key. 
They marched, and the crowd spread back and back 
As the two Throne-knights rode on their track. 
The Legates and the Bishops passed 
Amid acclamations; and so, at last. 
The proud stout Queen and the small pale King. 

[ 143] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
But soon all saw a daunting thing. 
As the small chess-host of Caissa spread 
Over the plain, — for forms of dread 
Had drawn right near in the interim 
And the whole horizon was splendid and dim 
With tossing howdahs and swaying hills 
And whanging music with shrills and trills 
Shot through, — and grotesque hordes in mail. 
And beasts one lollop from head to tail! 
Suddenly out of that swarm there streamed 
Red rockets which burst into stars that gleamed 
In rainbow colors, and wept toward earth ; 
And a fusillade of firecrackers rattled into birth. 
Gongs swung wildly. Lo and behold. 
From the first fierce ranks this war-song rolled: 

Aie! Aie! Aie! . . 

A proud and purple King 

Reigned in India the olden. 

To the seal upon his ring 

His subjects were beholden; 

And there came to pass a thing 

That in words of blood is told in 

The tomes of the Yellow Nations. 

Their salvations thus we sing! / 

Wise Kajah and Brahmin 
Descried him bloat with power 
And sought to bring him calm in 
An anguished evil hour. 

[ 144 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
They came with prayer and psalm in 
To the throne-room of his tower. 
"Thy people all are dying!" 
They came crying to the King. 

Ate! Ate! Ate! 

"Thou hast forgot thy land. 

All that its peace and war meant; 

Thou rend'st it in each hand 

As one might rend a garment. 

Thou rul'st with wild command!" 

And he said, "Die, dogs, in torment !" 

And had them all beheaded 

Did that dreaded evil King. 

But Sissa, Daher's son, 
Who saw his land so broken. 
Hissed low, "The King dreams on; 
Yet shall his sleep be woken!" 
To the Silence hath he gone 
To brood, — saith, "I have spoken!" 
What snare is he inventing 
For that unrelenting King? 

Aie! Aie! Aiel . . 

The princes tributary 

Saw his people's love divided. 

In secret woxe they merry 

And their hour of power they bided. 

For they saw a kingly quarry 

[ 145 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
And the bloody wrong his pride did 
To the soids of a people stricken 
Who must sicken of their King. 

Then Brahmin Sissa's thought 

Evolved a Game of Glory 

And soon the folk were taught 

Its rules and skill and story. 

And the Brahmin soon was brought 

Before that tyrant gory 

Who growled, "Strange rumors reach me. 

Thou shalt teach me of this thing !" 

Aie! Aie! Aie! 
They played most secretly. 
And Sissa, to astound him, 
Showed the King in Chess to be 
The sport of foes that bound him — 
Stripped of might and empery 
Did his folk not rally round him. 
"For his strength is in his people. 
Ponder deep all this, oh King! 

"Alone this King is naught 

But a spoil for ravenous foemen. 

And Love — can Love be bought 

With the sword.? Nay! Love must show men 

Warm true heart and word and thought \" . . 

And he understood the omen; 

His heart was moved; his nation 

Gained salvation through their King! 

[ 146 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
It ululated like weird shrill mirth 
Of hidden meaning. It sang the birth 
Of Chess from the East . . a thing to appal 
Those of the faith of the Seneschal, 
Who roared at once, "High blasphemy ! 
Thracian Caissa, this is She 
The Bright Undying, beloved of Mars, 
Whose strength victorious sways our stars ! 
He from Love's brother, Euphron, sought 
The First Chess Board, — ^by Euphron's thought 
Designed, and for Caissa's kiss. 
Dastard recalcitrants, this is 
The Faith we hold, our hope of Bliss ! 
Ye unbelieving dogs, we fight 
For our Caissa, Truth, and Right! 
Degenerate Sissains, 'ware of us 
Who rend your ranks idolatrous !" 

Crowds tossed about the messenger. 
And scarcely he could see or stir 
Till a squire lent him stirrup and hand. 
Then, over their heads he gazed, and scanned 
A space of the endless chequered plain 
Cleared, and enclosed by the gorgeous train 
Of Chaturanga, across the sward, — 
And here, by Caissa's clamorous horde. 
But of all the knights who had taken shield 
Only two stood forth. The squire revealed 
The reason, explaining genially 
This first conventional tilt to be, 

[ 147] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
As one might say, a formality, 
A try-out for the coming war 
In which, when arrayed, an army-corps 
Should be reckoned one piece, squadrons of horse 
Wheel for one knight, and a serried force 
Of footmen, spears, and bows march on 
To represent a single pawn. 
Meanwhile (though in earnest) there preluded 
This fight of Thirty-two. But if feud did 
Ever engage more desperate souls. 
It is not written on Heaven's rolls. 
And there on Chaturanga's side 
Stood Cannon and Elephants of pride 
And Councillors all ranged arow 
In the nomenclature the East doth know. 
And suddenly out between the forces 
Ambled two envoys on armored horses 
From either side. After swift debating 
They each read out (strictly translating) 
The governing laws of the combat, clause 
And codicil, to the end. A pause. 
First Move became Caissa's right. 
Chaturanga answered. A bright Throne-knight 
Trotted out to a turfy plat, averred 
By the crowd to be King's Bishop's Third. . . 

But the messenger wearied. He wished to stroll 
Through the throng. And he happened upon a scroll 
OutroUed on a table, whereover sat 
The Master Manoeuvrer, wise and fat. 

[ 148 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
'Twixt him and the field ran pages gay 
As he scribbled instructions for each new play. 
And ever he fumed in tart vexation 
As he reconnoitred the situation. 
His wild gaze showed that he rolled his eyes on 
Strategic and tactical horizon, 
Attack and support, topographic key. 
And points of impenetrability. 
With muttering mumble and growls and groans 
He burbled of hypothetic zones. 
And gabbled a jargon worse than a mystic's 
Freighted with Lesser and Greater Logistics. 
(Doubtless his Oriental fellow 
Served Chaturanga.) 

But what a bellow 
Of rage and hate assaulted the skies 
Suddenly ! It appeared from their cries 
On a left oblique that a certain Pawn 
Through the enemy's host had deftly gone 
And, winning the farthest rank, was made 
A Councillor. But here he betrayed 
In a moment all hopes. He was acting queerly, 
And rushed at his own Throne-knight, who nearly 
Succumbed to his stroke. Yes ! It seemed quite clear 
That he was a traitor, or very near 
Running amok ! 

And then a figure 
Bobbed out on the field in a crazy jig, — your 
Chinese director of movements and tacticals ! 
Bright on his nose danced his big horn spectacles. 

[ 149 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
But his claw fingers waved on high, to the gapers. 
What — lo and behold! — ^but The Secret Papers! 

"Then it was the Courier !" a great gasp rose. 
And now, no mistake, he led their foes 
In a Councillor's robes of flapping blue 
And a crescent sword, and an uncoiled queue. 
His identity — ^but of course you've guessed it, 
'Twas the Seventh Pawn who, unarrested. 
Overrode the ranks that reeled in confusion, — 
'Twas the Spaniard's face, to their disillusion 
That gleamed such a wild-cat grin ! And behind 
Flashed acres of swords. With a sudden blind 
Burst of thunder crashed drum on drum. 
Heavily the elephants lumbered up to come. 
Yes, at double-quick, far-aligned battalions. 
Dromedaries, leopards, and zebra-stallions. 
Lacquered Samurai, yellow Asiatics, 
Black-bearded Persians, Indian fanatics 
Poured in hordes through the shattered chess game, 
With lightning speed beyond all guess came 
Bearing down on Caissa's vassals 
Whose great mass shuddered, gabbled "The Castle's 
Round-tower — make for the Tower !" and madly 
Turned to run. They were frightened badly! 

Like a leaf on a wave was the messenger whirled. 
And again commotion swallowed his world. 
But in one last glimpse he beheld the queues 
Of the jewelled celestials, like coiled lassos, 

[ 150 ] 



THE SEVENTH PAWN 
Spinning out and settling all around 
Over neck of knight and knave homebound. 
And above the rout wound a high weird cry: 
"Still I live, I live! Can I never die?" 

A dark veil dropped. Rain began to pour. 

Struggling, wrenched, he was tossed once more 

Shoulder-high. Turning his head half back 

He saw all the heavens bulging black 

With thunder. Asunder one jagged flash 

On that instant ripped them. Then, with a crash 

Of stunning violence, down shot 

A huge vast hand, like a mighty blot 

On the plain. It closed, immense, completely 

Over the Spaniard — just as he sweetly 

Swung his scimetar at the messenger's head ! 

******** 

Why, what rubbish ! There was the moon instead 

With a thousand silver rays to shed 

From that rich blue sky so thick with stars. 

A thin hand crept where the beard was sparse 
And rubbed a thin cheek. And the messenger rose 
Reeling. 

Where was he? Do you suppose 
That Adept had died then ? But all was dream ! 
Well, where — by the powers we all blaspheme — 
Was the Inn ? Or was there no Inn, forsooth ! 
There was not. Near by, like the jagged tooth 
Of some dark old crone, the black field thrust forth 

[ 151 ] 



THE BURGLAR OF THE ZODIAC 
A milestone. Jhe white road wound from the north 
And west. 

And then he heard a whicker 
Beyond it, and caught the ghostly flicker 
Of his white mare. 

When he came that cropper 
Or slid down in sleep, with none to stop her 
She had strayed quite a bit. 

But he must ride. 
Or that waiting sloop would miss the tide! 
With a sinking heart he remembered his mission. 
Dreams! At this hour, with all perdition 
Loose in the person of Bonaparte! 
God, he must certainly mount and start! 
Yet — he plunged in his pockets — his book.'' Where 

was . . ? 
And then he perceived it on the grass, 
Picked it up, all damp with the dew, and flipped 
The fly-leaf open in the moonlight. Stripped 
Of rhetoric, it read no less 
Than thus, as follows: 

"Studies in Chess ; 
Containing Caissa, a Scacchic Poem 
By Sir William Jones." 

(And, after that proem,) 
"Pilidor's Parties — New Combinations — 
Don Pedro Carrera's Situations; 
With Other Matter condensed and sprightly 
For Wits desiring to play Chess rightly." 

[ 152 ] 



